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C TRILL A; 

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MYSTERIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 


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BY THE 

\ " 1 

BARONESS T AXJTPHCEIJ S, 

n 

AUTHOR OF “THE INITIALS," “QUITS," “AT ODDS, 1 * <fec. 


Many also have perished, have erred, and sinned, for women.”— -1 Esdbas 4: 27. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

TURNER & CO., PUBLISHERS, 

No. 808 CHESTNUT STREET. 

1 8 70. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 


TURNER BROTHERS & CO. 


In the Clerk’s Office of the District Conrt of the United States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


CYRILLA; 

OR, THE v 

MYSTERIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 


CHAPTER I. 

Fit ndreds of English travellers pass through 
Salzburg every summer — many of them hav- 
ing previously gone over a considerable por- 
tion of this earth’s periphery in that silent 
business-like manner which, on the continent 
of Europe, is supposed to be peculiar to their 
nation; not a few, after having arrived at 
the melancholy conviction, that they have al- 
ready seen too much to be surprised or par- 
ticularly pleased by any country left for 
them to explore. Yet the feelings must be 
blunted in an unusual degree, if that most 
beautifully situated town make no lasting 
impression on the mind, when seen in all the 
glory of an unclouded summer’s day. The 
range of mountains that form the horizon, 
and from which the snow seldom altogether 
disappears, is near enough to realize in a few 
hours the dreams of the most imaginative 
pedestrian, in gigantic rocks, thundering tor- 
rents, dark lakes, and narrow secluded val- 
leys. Mountains, too, are the natural fortifi- 
cations of the town itself, the solid rock 
forming a part in the construction of many’ 
of the houses, while forest trees grow luxu- 
riantly among the crags above their roofs. 

Salzburg in summer, and Salzburg in win- 
ter, present, however, very different aspects. 
The surrounding scenery is unfit for enjoy^- 
ment ; we perceive that the streets are nar- 
row, the houses high ; that the mountains di- 
minish the hours of light and sunshine, and 
seem in their monotonous whiteness like 
shrouded giants about to encircle us in their 
frozen arms. The beautiful marble fountain 
in the Dom Platz is covered up with wooden 
planks to defend it from the frost ; the exotic 
lants that luxuriated at allithe windows 
ave been withdrawn ; deep snow lies on 
the ground, not, however, wet and slippery 
as we know it in England, but dry, hard, 
crisp, and crystallized ; and a stranger might 
watch with interest the various kinds of 
sledges, from those on which the loaded wag- 
on slides gratingly’, its team of horses wel) 
furnished with sonorous bells, to the lighter 
vehicles that, gliding noiselessly along, con- 
vey the fruit and vegetables to market, the 
fur-capped children to school, or the capa- 
cious basket of a laundress to its destination. 

The mixture of monks and military is also 
a psculiarity’ that strikes immediately’. With 
he former we have nothing to do, with the 


latter somewhat — that is, if the reader will 
consent to retrograde some twenty^ y T ears in 
imagination, and spend a w’inter day in Salz- 
burg towards the end of the y’ear 1830. 
Crossing the bridge over the Salzach at an 
early hour in the morning, a turn to the left 
will lead into a narrow street not far distant 
from the palace of Mirabel, containing sever- 
al large massively built houses: oyer the 
gateway of one of them a well-known coat 
of arms hewn in stone is conspicuous, the 
coronet and savage upon it being, b is true, 
rather weather-beaten and in some places 
defective, but, like the tattered colors of a 
regiment that has seen service, the increase 
of these defects only serves to add to its val- 
ue in the estimation of its possessors. 

This house was built by Rudolph Barou 
von Walden auf Waldenburg in the seven- 
teenth ceutury’, and since repaired, altered, 
and enlarged, by his successors at different 
periods ; which interesting facts were record- 
ed on stones inserted in the walls, that no 
subsequent yellow, green, or white washing 
of the mansion had ever been suffered to 
conceal or deface. It was asserted, with 
every appearance of probability, that the 
buildings used as stables had been erected 
by the Romans, and that perhaps treasure, 
certainly antiquities, might be found, if judi 
cious and determined search were made in 
the y 7 ard and its vicinity. 

The Waldens had been an incredulous gen- 
eration with respect to hidden treasures, and 
cared for no antiquities, excepting those that 
immediately concerned their family. It w r as 
curious that the first who, roused by r curiosi- 
ty or avarice, had rummaged the family arch- 
ives for information on the subject, should be 
deprived in a rather arbitrary manner of his 
inheritance. Unconscious of the value attach- 
ed to the house by his only son, Baron Wal- 
den had bestowed it on his daughter Olga, 
as an additional gift the day she had pru 
dently married her cousm^CTott fried von 
Adlerkron Windhorst, instead of a penniless 
soldier of fortune to whom she had long been 
attached. When afterwards, surprised and 
dismayed at the boundless wrath of his son, 
Baron balden would willingly’ have re-pur- 
chased his gift at almost any’ price, nothing 
could induce Olga to resign a house which, 
even on her wedding-day, she calmly thought 
would make a desirable widow-residence for 
herself hereafter; a house in which the 


4 


CYRILLA. 


6tone3 spoke more distinctly of the noble 
race of Walden, than even the excavated 
tunnel-entrance to the town of its pious ar- 
chitect. A quarrel had naturally ensued be- 
tween the brother and sister, followed by 
such intense hatred on the part of the form- 
er, that years afterwards, on his deathbed at 
Vvaldenburg, he had complained of his unjust 
disinheritance with all the bitterness of a 
freshly received injury, rejoiced that his 
sister was childless, and then enjoined his 
young son Conrad to purchase the house of 
his aunt, if she could ever by any means be 
induced to part with it 

In the meantime, the Baroness, as she had 
anticipated, became a widow, and in the 
course of time took up her abode in the 
“Walden Haus,” as it was called. The faint, 
formal epistolary effort made by her brother’s 
son after his father’s decease to commence a 
correspondence, which had proved quite 
fruitless; she informed him, in a few cold 
unsympathizing lines, that, “ having received 
the intelligence of her brother’s death, she 
would not refer to the terms on which they 
had lived, but consid sred it her duty to inform 
him now, if he were not already aware of 
the circumstance, that she had adopted her 
nephew, Rupert von Adlerkron, and intend- 
ed to make him, in accordance with the 
wishes of her late husband, heir to all she 
possessed.” The tone or purport of the let- 
ter, perhaps both, prevented any further at- 
tempt at conciliation or communication, and 
the Baroness turned with renewed interest 
towards Rupert, the last scion of the house 
of Adlerkron. 

As the son of her hushand’s eldest brother 
and her own sister, he was doubly her neph- 
ew, also, in consequence of former intermar- 
riages in their families, her cousin ; to this 
mixture of relationships she had often allud- 
ed, but latterly they had all been sunk in the 
name of adopted son, and she had for many 
years made it her chief occupation to amass 
wealth, hoping with it to purchase that affec- 
tion and devotion from him, which she had 
failed to secure by less expensive means at 

earlier period. Some other relations had 
lately begun to occupy her thoughts ; they 
were the children of her husband’s young- 
est brother Carl; but their having been al- 
ready left a considerable sum of money by 
her husband, and a bequest of as much more 
Bhould they marry with her consent, had 
hitherto caused her to regard them with an 
undisguised anger and dislike, that nothing 
but a feeling of daily increasing loneliness 
could overcome. To this was now artyled a 
matrimonial plan for one of thempwnrch had 
suddenly buj^ttmpletely taken possession of 
her mind : andwiis plan with its consequences 
influenced in so remarkable a manner the 
whole family, that the baroness, as the pro- 
jector of it, must be considered worthy of 
more attention than so little interesting a 
person would otherwise deserve, or than 
perhaps will be quite agreeable to the reader. 

Let us mount the time-worn stone staircase 
on the morning our tale commences, and on 
the first Hour we shall meet her walking to- 
wards the small room in which she genei'aHy- 


breakfasted. There was an air of stern yet 
faded grandeur about the interior of the resi- 
dence, which accorded well with the appear- 
ance of the of it ; her very dress of 

fueillemorte colored silk seemed to be of th*» 
same date as tne sun-bleached red curtains 
of the ante-room. Such was not however the 
case : an experienced female eye would have 
pronounced the scanty morning wrapper to 
be at least of this century, whereas the fur- 
niture and its arrangement but too evidently 
bore the stamp of a foregoing — not the gor- 
geous rococo or renaissance, but the stiff in- 
sipid style of the Revolution, with all it* 
inelegant angles and so-called antique forms. 
The effect produced by this furniture in the 
massive antiquated building was not unlike 
that of the Baroness’ own dress, as it clung 
to her full figure, which, not above the mid- 
dle height, inclined very considerably to a 
degree of fleshiness that might almost be 
termed corpulency; the smallness of both 
hands and feet denoted that the proportions 
had once been finer, and more appropriate to 
the very handsome face which had success- 
fully braved the wear and tear of an execra- 
ble temper and nine-and-forty years. Her 
dark brow contracted, and an expression of 
vehement impatience bust from her lips, as, 
through the negligently closed door of the 
stove, the bright flames of an unusually 
large fire met her eyes. She stooped, was 
for a moment lost in the capacious mouth of 
the stove, and having then and there ascer 
tained that more wood was being burned 
than was permitted, she called angrily to a 
footman evidently attempting an escape, and 
asked in a very loud voice, who dared to 
waste her wood in that extravagant manner. 

“ I don’t know, madam, but 1 will ask Ur- 
sula,” he replied, turning towards a house- 
maid, who at no great distance was busy at 
her usual morning work of deluging the nn- 
carpeted corridors, and mopping them dry 
again, very much in the manner in which the 
decks of a man-of-war are swabbed. She al- 
lowed him to repeat the question, of which 
she had heard every word, and then answered 
saucily, “ Baron Alderkron desired me to 
make a good fire ; he says he is frozen in this 
house — that he has never been warm since 
he came into it.” 

The Baroness did not wait to hear the 
softened repetition of these words, but hastily 
entered the room, and saw the person who 
had caused the unnecessary waste of fuel 
drawing the breakfa§t-table to the two arm- 
chairs which he had Already placed close tb 
the stove. He was a very tall young man, 
with fair hair curling thickly round a, high 
white forehead, large light blue eyes, a well 
proportioned nose, a mouth half concealed by 
mustachios of unusual length, and hair still 
fairer than the “ Hyperian curls ” that graced 
his head. He had probably heard what had 
been said, for he half laughed, as he looked 
up for a moment to 4 say “Good morning, 
aunt,” and then again seized the table, un- 
heedful of the clattering cups and tall totter- 
ing coffeepot, and continued to drag it to- 
wards him. 

His aunt laid her hand on his arm, exclaim 


C YR1LL A. 


>ng, “ Not sc close to the store, Rupert, pray — 
I shall be siffocated ! ” 

He stopped, drew forward a screen, and 
then, having ensconced hin%elf in a chair, 
began to eat his breakfast iirsilence. 

“ 1 wish,” began his aunt after a pause — 
“ 1 wish you would consent to remain here 
one day longer — only one day ! Your cousins 
must arrive this evening; 1 cannot conceive* 
what has delayed them so long.” 

“ It is not difficult to account for the delay,” 
he answered carelessly; “a journey from 
Italy is not easily made in such weather as 
tii is ! ” 

“But they left Italy six weeks ago, and 
have been staying in Meran ; a most unne- 
cessary expense, 1 must say, for people in 
their circumstances.” 

“ Iijthought you said my aunt Sophy had 
been iTi ? ” 

“Oh, not more than she always is — one 
might almost think that her former mode of 
life, wandering about after your uncle’s regi- 
ment, must have been beneficial to her health, 
notwithstanding all the discomforts to which 
it subjected her; for since he died, and she 
has been able to live quietly, she has never 
been well.” 

“ Perhaps grief ” began Rupert. 

“Ah, bah ! — she did not care for him most 
probably more than I did for your uncle Gott- 
fried, — perhaps not as much; yet you see 
how I have got over his death, which is even 
more recent.” 

Rupert leaned back in his chair, folded his 
arms, and looked up to the ceiling. “ While,” 
she continued, “I don’t mean to say that 
they lived unhappily together, they got on 
as well as the generality of people, I believe ; 
but you know he had been desperately 
wounded several times before she married 
him, and from the time his jaw was shattered, 
he was perfectly hideous ; besides, she was 
his second wife, and was such a contrast to 
the first, that I don’t imagine he could have 
wed much for her, at least we all supposed 
so. It was your uncle Gottfried and I who 
arranged the marriage, you know.” 

“My uncle Gottfried!” said Rupert, with 
evident surprise ; “I should have thought 
that money-making was more in his line than 
match-making.” 

“ Wh} r , yes ; but we were so afraid that 
Carl would again make a fool of himself, that 
we were glad to find any one at all eligible 
disposed to take him. Your aunt Sophy’s 
fortune was small, but the connection was 
very desirable, and crippled as he was, after 
so many campaigns, he had no right to ex- 
pect either youth or beauty.” 

“ So brave a soldier had a right to expect 
much,” observed Rupert. 

“AVell, I don’t deny his bravery; but he 
nad faults of the most unpardonable descrip- 
tion — he was careless — thoughtless to a de- 
gree where motley was concerned. You 
don’t know now often your uncle Gottfried 
had to assist him ! ” 

Repert knew more about the matter than 
she did ; but he did not say so. 

“It was the only thing we ever seriously 
quarrelled about, for I always thought and 


£ 


said, that when people incurred debts they 
should pay them.” 

Still Rupert was silent, and she continued, 

“ You have no idea what wild habits your, 
uncle Carl contracted during the war ; he 
quite forgot his station in life, and from the 
time he married that painter’s daughter, 
Signora Nina, as they called her, he lived 
almost exclusively among artists, and actors, 
and authors, and such people.” 

“ He led a very jolly life for several years,” 
said Rupert. “Every one sa} T s his wife was 
an angel, and with such a child as Melanie 
must have been ” 

“ Melanie would have been totally spoiled 
if her mother had not died,” cried his aunt 
pettishly. “ Fortunately your uncle Carl at- 
tended to our advice, and sent her off to 
school before he married again. The other 
two girls have been brought up very differ- 
ently.” 

“ I know they have,” said Rupert, laugh- 
ing; “my aunt Sophy’s drawing-room was a 
perfect school-room. I have a painful recol- 
lection of seeing my little cousin Cyrilla 
perched on a high stool before a piano-forte, 
playing some dreadful exercises for the left 
hand, while the tears streamed over her baby 
face, and she occasionally wiped them away 
with her long fair curls.” 

“So you remember Cyrilla?” cried his 
aunt quickly. 

“ As much as a mere boy can remember a 
mere child ; I recollect her shoes particularly 
well.” 

“Her shoes!” 

“Yes, she use,d to wear little bronze-col- 
oured shoes, with pink sandals; and once, 
after she had performed some graceful sort 
of pantomime with a scarf. I saw her father 
place her on a table before him and kiss them. 

I thought at the time I should like vastly to 
have just such a little child of my own, 
bronze-coloured shoes and pink sandals in- 
clusive.” 

“Nonsense, Rupert! You could not have 
been more than ten or twelve years old at 
that time.” 

“ And yet I perfectly recollect indulging* 
most innocently in the wish to be a father, 
said Rupert, holding a newspaper before hi? 
face to conceal a smile. 

His aunt half laughed, fidgeted on her 
chair, played with her coffee spoon, and seem- 
ed to hesitate and consider what she should 
next say. At this moment the sound of an 
approaching sledge became audible, and na 
sooner did the jingling of the bells denote 
its immediate vicinity, than Rupert sprang 
up, and throwing wide opep the double win- 
dows, gave entrance to theKcold winter air, 
and a considerable quantity of snow, while> 
making exaggerated salutations to some one 
below. 

“At last! ” exclaimed the Baroness, rising 
hastily; “at last! Well, I really am glad 
that they have come before you leave Salz- 
burg, for I must tell you ” 

What she intended to tell her nephew was 
inaudible, for the moment she had risen from 
her chair, with a little more than usual pre- 
cipitation, four dogs, remarkable for nothing 


4 


C TRILL A. 


but th air diminutive dimensions, commenced 
snarling and barking with all their might. 
Totally inattentive to her commands for si- 
lence, they first endeavoured to impede her 
progress across the room, by running over 
ner feet, and then seizing Rupert’s fur-lined 
dressing-gown, which hung temptingly be- 
fore them as he leaned out of the window, 
they tugged at it so successfully that in a 
few seconds it was torn in several places. 

“ I don’t hear what you say ! ” cried Rupert 
to some one in the street “ Confound these 
useless curs,” he added, impatiently kicking 
those nearest him, “it is impossible to hear 
a word when they are yelping in this way. 
Where are you to be found? ” 

“ At the barracks. We are going to make 
a sledging part} T into Bavaria to-day, to drink 
Rhine wine — did not Potyak tell you ? ” 

“ I did not see him ” 

“I thought he was the best person to give 
the message to you, as we all know that 
he is every day and all day ” 

Rupert threw back his head and eyes with 
a significant jerk, the speaker made an odd 
grimace, and calling out, “I shall expect you 
in au hour,” drove off. 

“ 1 wish you would shut the window, Ru- 
pert,” said his aunt pettishly; “it is very 
cold. I really thought, from your impetuous 
manner, that it must have been your cousins 
you expected to see, and it is only that stu- 
pid Count Glaneck.” 

“ An excellent, kind-hearted fellow as ever 
lived.” 

“ That is more than I can say for you, — 
you have kicked Amor and Mi-lady unmerci- 
fully.” 

“ I did not mean to hurt them, though they 
provoked me beyond endurance. Come here, 
Mi-lady. You do not seem to have suffered 
much from my boot. Affectionate creature ! 
She lias turned up her little i*ed eyes to my 
face — she forgives me. May I not hope that 
my aunt will also pardon my impatience, 
or cruelty, or whatever the misdemeanour 
may be denominated, of which I have been 
guilty?” 

• “1 think,” said his aunt, not quite satisfied 
at his attempt at contrition, “I think, Ru- 
ert, you most purposely try to annoy me. I 
now you are fond of dogs — all sportsmen 
are; and yet mine are abused and kicked by 
you on every possible occasion.” 

“ If they did not bark just when I happen 
to be speaking, or when other people are 
speaking, I have no sort of dislike to them, 
though they <zfW|iseles8 little brutes.” 

“ Useless iittle\rutes !” 

“Why, yls. Ijdon’t suppose Mi-lady ever 
Killed a ra£ in ffer life ; Amor would run 
away from a mouse ; and Jolie and Minkerl 
are of such doubtful breed, that one hardly 
knows what they are intended to repre- 
sent.” 

1 “Minkerl is a Russian terrier; his father 
was Russian and his mother was Russian, 
and Colonel Bockenheim says he envies me 
but one thing in the world, and that is — 
Minkerl” 

“Don’t believe him. We envies you your 
thousands and tens of tho isands of Austrian 


florins and Prussian dollars much more 1 1 

suspect, too, he intends you to bestow a few 
of them on his very pretty daughter, or he 
would never have proposed giving her to 
you for a companion.” 

“ That was not exactly his intention, but 
you are not very far from the mark.” 

“And, pray, what was his intention?’* 
asked Rupert carelessly, while he amused 
himself placing bits of sugar on the dogs’ 
noses, which they were not to eat until he 
bad givn the word of command. “What 
was his intention ? — Steady, Amor 1 make 
ready — present — halt — present . ...” 

“ He knows the large fortune of which 
you are in actual possession, as well as that, 
having quarrelled with my brother, you, and 
you alone, are likely to be my heir. lie 
thought that as you are unmarried, and his 
daughter as you say very pretty, there was 
a chance of ” 

“ Fire ! ” cried Rupert, and the dogs 
crunched the*r sugar, while he hastily rose, 
and with a gesture of impatience prepared to 
leafre the room. 

“You always avoid this subject, Rupert, 
though you know very well how much I 
wish you to leave the army, and ” 

“I know very well how much you wished 
me to enter it a few years ago.” 

“Yes, when you wanted to travel in the 
East; but now that you are older and stea- 
dier, I wish you to marry and settle at Wind 
horst. Colonel Bockenheim says you would 
be more manageable if you had a few debts, 
and I believe he is right ; not that I exactly 
wish you to have pecuniary embarrassments 
like other young men ” 

“Thank you, aunt, but I have none what- 
ever; and as to marrying Colonel Bocken- 
heim’s daughter ” 

“ His daughter ! ” exclaimed the Baroness 
haughtily ; “ no, indeed, I never thought of 
such a connexion! We can easily find some 
one more suitable.” 

“Yes, yes, we can easily find some one 
more suitable,” repeated Rupert, while he 
hurried towards the door. “Time enough, 
time enough. I give you the next ten years 
to look out for a wife for me. No man should 
ever marry until he is past thirty.” 

“Generally speaking, perhaps, you are 
right; but in your case it is otherwise. You 
are the last of the Adlerkron Windhorsts; 
and know, that should you die without hav- 
ing children, estates that have been in our 
family for hundreds of years fall to the 
crown. Windhorst you know ” 

“I know, I know,” cried Rupert; “but 
your other nephew, Walden of Waldenburg, 
is precisely in the same position. Why don’t 
you bestow some care on the preservation of 
your own immediate family ? Conrad must 
be a well-grown lad by this time. What’s 
his age ? ” 

“ Don’t name him to me!” she exclaimed 
angrily. “The son of a brother I disliked 86 
much, and who did not scruple to injure my 
reputation in every way that lay in his power, 
shall never inherit anything from me. All 
my hopes and expectations are centred in 
you.” 


CYRILLA. 


T 




M I am very sor ry to heai it,” said Rupert, 
with an impatient sigh, “and wish that I 
had a brother or any thing that would save 
me from proposals of marriage, and prevent 
so many people from interesting themselves 
in my concerns.” 

“1 hope you have no objection to my ex- 
pressing some interest about you, Rupert ? ” 

“O, of course not.” 

“Well then, I wish to speak a few words 
to you about something really of importance, 
and deeply interesting to us both,” 

“ I am afraid Glaneck expects me, — i ! you 
would only postpone your communication 
until I return ” 

“ But you intend to spend the whole day 
with him : I heard you say so ! ” cried his 
aunt with visible irritation. “You never 
bestow five minutes’ attention on me, how- 
ever,” she added with affected resignation ; 
“you learned to treat me with indifference 
and disrespect from your uncle, and I ought 
never to have submitted to it from either 
of you.” 

Rupert had heard this so often that he 
cither no longer doubted the fact, or deemed 
it unnecessary to attempt a contradiction, 
and merely replied while his hand was on 
the lock of the door: “I intended to have 
remained out late, but if you desire it I shall 
endeavour to get back in time to talk to you 
before you go to bed Early to-morrow 
morning I must start for the north ; the re- 
mainder of my leave of absence ought to be 
spent atWiQdhorst: they tell me the roof 
wants rej <iir again ; I wish half the castle 
would fall to the ground — the other half 
would be more than large enough for me ! ” 

“ Rupert ! ” 

“You need not look so shocked ; there’s no 
harm in a man’s wishing his ancestors had 
been more economical in stone and mortar. 
I never go to Windhorst without thinking 
what a famous cavalry barrack it would 
make ! ” 

“Oh, Rupert, if your uncle were alive, 
and could hear you talk in this way, after all 
the improvements he made there during your 
minority ! ” 

“ I did occasionally hint something of the 
kind to him ; for even his presence could not 
make it other than a magnificently dull 
lace. I am thinking of buying a very pretty 
unting-lodge near Exfort as soon as I find 
we are likely to be quartered there; but I 
can tell you all about that in the evening. 
You may expect me at nine or ten o’clock. 
Are you satisfied ? May I go ? ” 

His aunt did not look satisfied, but she 
nodded her head, and Rupert, uttering a 
hasty ail rev:ir, left the room. 


Chapter ii. 

Boon after her nephew left her, the Baroness, 
muffiing herself in a fur-lined cloak, and ac- 
companied by her housekeeper, descended 
the stairs to inspect the rooms prepared for 
the reception\ of her sister-in-law and her 
two daughters', Under pretence of a wish 


to be useful and kind to relatives in notveiy 
brilliant circumstances, and altogether for- 
etting to mention that her wealth had not 
een able to procure her one friend, or even 
a companion whose presence she could tole- 
j ate, she had offered them the use of some 
apartments on the ground-floor of her house, 
after having found it impossible to induce 
any tenant to remain more than a few months 
in them. It is probable her sister-in-law 
would have declined the permission to occu- 
py them, had not the letter containing the 
proposal hinted something conciliatory about 
a “ certain important paragraph in her hus- 
band’s will,” and a “hope that her house 
would henceforward be a home for her sister- 
in-law and her daughters.” 

Unwilling to decline the first advance to- 
wards friendship on the part of their rich 
relation, they had not ventured to refuse, and 
they quitted Italy with heavy hearts ; and 
from Meran they wrote to request the Ba- 
roness to purchase whatever furniture was 
absolutely necessary in the first instance, but 
to avoid any expense beyond their means. 
Nothing could be more comfortless than the 
appearance of the large low rooms with their 
half-dozen chairs, hard cushionless sofas, ana 
scanty white curtains. The Baroness Ad- 
lerkron, however, seemed to think it quite 
good enough for the expected occupants, and 
even found some of the bedroom furniture 
unnecessarily costly. 

“ Painted chests of drawers and -wardrobes 
would have answered the purpose quite a» 
well, Monica,” she observed to the house- 
keeper, who stood shivering beside her, 
“ painted in imitation of cherrywood or wal- 
nut, you know. This is an unnecessary ex- 
pense — don’t forget to collect all the bills, 
that my sister-in-law ma}^ see exactly the 
price of every thing.” 

The woman sneered slightly, and murmur- 
ed something about stoves requiring to be 
heated, as there had been no fires since the 
whitewashing. 

“ The time of their arrival is too uncer- 
tain,” replied the Baroness coldly ; “ but you 
had better bespeak wood for them — not, 
however, from the peasant who supplies me ; 
I wish as much as possible to avoid employ- 
ing the same tradespeople.” She drew her 
cloak tighter round her, and walked up 
stairs. 

After looking over her house-accounts, and 
scolding a good deal about the extravagance 
practised, without exception, by every mem- 
ber of her establishment, she summoned her 
maid and changed her dress. The morning 
wrapper was thrown aside, and a silk dress, 
evincing an economical inclination to follow 
the latest fashion without a too great expen- 
diture of stuff, was substituted; an inde- 
scribable fantastic head-dress, supposed to be 
Hungarian, composed of bright-coloured vel- 
vet ribbons, partly concealed her dark hair, 
which was but slightly tinged with grey; 
and while she amused herself clasping brace- 
lets on her wrists, her maid kneeiiqg before 
her tied the sandals of a pair of diminutive 
silk shoes the colour of her robe. With sat- 
isfaction she glanced a! both feet and hands, 


t 


C Y RILL A. 


and then a little less confidently at her full 
length image in the glass. It was the re- 
flection of a woman past her prime, but not 
yet faded: the marked and regular features 
were still so handsome, that, as she gazed, a 
smile of proud approbation stole over them — 
a row of teeth of faultless purity became 
visible, and she turned away, calling her 
dogs around her, as she held out her hand 
impatiently for her handkerchief. 

The maid, in presenting it, said diffidently, 
“Martin wishes to know if the sledge will 
be ” 

“Martin may wait for my orders,” said 
the Baroness, haughtily interrupting her. 

“ His daughter was so very ill last night, 
that ” 

“ I know nothing of his daughter — I have 
never heard of his having a wife,” said the 
Baroness, frowning; and then, shaking her 
handkerchief in the air, which was a signal 
for her dogs to make violent springs to catch 
it, she walked on to the drawing-room, fol- 
lowed by all four barking and snarling around 
her. 

The house seemed to have increased in 
gloominess even since the morning — no ray 
of winter sun now lightened its vaulted cor- 
ridors — no sound more cheerful than the 
barking of small dogs enlivened them. Sit- 
uated in that part of the town which lost its 
brilliancy and fashion when the Crown 
Prince of Bavaria ceased to inhabit the 
closely approximate palace of Mirabel, it 
had, with the exception of the bel etage , been 
let to a numerous but quiet family of the 
name of Bornstedt. They were respectable, 
and paid their rent regularly; and the Ba- 
roness, in a condescending sort of way, in- 
formed them, through her porter, that they 
might continue to do so, even after she had 
taken possession of her own apartments. 
She' explained at some length to her avocat , 
that “ having a family of that description in 
the house was rather desirable than other- 
wise for a widow — itpvould prevent attempts 
at robbery or any thing of that kind ; but as 
they did not live in her 4 world,’ any idea of 
social intercourse was of course quite out of 
the question. They were very good sort 
of people, and she hoped they would have 
sense enough to understand their posi- 
tion.” 

She took care that they should learn it 
soon enough ; for when chance, in any place, 
brought them together, though she gracious- 
ly returned the bows and curtsies of the 
whole family with an inclination of her head, 
her lips refused to move or even part for a 
moment, lest such condescension on her part 
should provoke familiarity and draw her into 
a sort of acquaintance. Haughtily had she 
ordered her servant to refuse them admis- 
sion, when, after she had been established in 
her house^ about ten days, they, in the excess 
of their civility, came to pay what they con- 
sidered a visit of imperative politeness ; and 
this she had done after having been informed 
by her maid (for servants will talk to eacli 
other) that the Bornstedts were only waiting 
for their spring bonnets, and that Miss Jo- 
sephine, or as she was familiarly called Miss 


Pepi, had got a new muslin frock for ih* 

occasion. 

With deliberate cruelty, too, she had 
watched until one fine fete day — when the 
said spring bonnets and new frock had left 
the house to grace and enliven with their 
presence one of the numerous gardens in the 
neighbourhood — to return the visit. As the 
happy family-party, joyous and a little noisy, 
sauntered down the' street, she put on her 
bonnet and shawl, and with a card on which 
was engraved “ La Baronne d’Adlerkron 
Windhorst nee Baronne de’ Walden Walden- 
burg ” in her hand, she desired a footman to 
ring the bell on the second floor. Following 
just enough to make herself visible in the 
distance to the maid who opened the door, 
she turned down a corner of the card to de- 
note that she had been there in person, and 
then again descended the stairs. 

One last faint effort' was made by tin 
Bornstedts to be “neighbourly,” as they 
termed it. A short time afterwards, when 
they met her entering the house, they en- 
deavoured with considerable volubility U 
express their regyet at not having been at 
home when she “ had done them the honoui 
to calL” She bowed her head haughtily tw* 
or three times, and then continued her con- 
versation with a young officer who stood 
beside her, quite unhecaful of their abashed 
countenances as they drew aside to let her 
and her companion pass them. This young 
man was known by the name of the Adlerk- 
ron aid-de-camp . He had brought a letter of 
introduction to her — had been invited to her 
house, and some way or other had got a 
habit of going there every day. Nor had he 
been singular either in this name or in hia 
habits ; each following regiment had fur- 
nished a successor, sometimes older, some- 
times uglier, never younger, until the time 
our tale commences: but if we follow the 
Baroness into her drawing-room now, it will 
puzzle us to find out what can induce so very 
young a man as Count Ivan Polyak to spend 
every hour, not claimed by actual duties, in 
that large cold room. Perhaps he wished to 
have a lounge in one of the first houses in the 
town — perhaps he was an admirer of the 
still handsome Baroness — perhaps lie liked 
people to talk about him : these reasons, and 
some others of a less creditable description, 
were commonly assigned him by the Salz- 
burg world, which proves that the world 
there can be as unnecessarily censorious a«. 
elsewhere. The fact was, he had only just 
joined his regiment — had been educated at 
home in the heart of Hungary. Half proud,, 
half shy, and not particularly clever, -he had 
not learned to feel at ease among his com 
rades excepting when he was on horseback ; 
while with the Baroness he could talk of his 
father, mother, brothers, Asters, and tutor, 
without reserve : besides she was a correct 
and unwearying accompanier oifi the piano- 
forte, and he sang a little, and played th« 
flute in a melancholy gentlemanlike sort of 
way. Though not an amusing, the Baroness 
was a loquacious woman — was! accustomed 
to have some one to listen to aj^d answer her. 
appropriately ; and during both her married 


C YRILLA. 


9 


And widowed life she had always had a tame 
nan of some kind or other about her, so that 
such a person had become at last absolutely 
indispensable* The French have their cava- 
lier servant — the Italians their cicisbeo — the 
Germans their hautfreund. The English 
vocabulary (on this occasion one may rejoice 
in the poverty of the language) fails to fur- 
nish a word, so we must be satisfied with the 
Salzburg military denomination, and say that 
the aid de-camp was a small slight young 
man, with coal-black hair and eyes, a sallow 
complexion, turned-up nose, and slightly pro- 
jecting chin ; his tightty- fitting hussar uni- 
form w as worn with such ease, that it seemed 
what it nearly was, rather a national cos- 
tume than a military dress. 

He sprang across the room to meet her as 
she entered, and then commenced some noisy 
play with the dogs until she had established 
herself on the sofa, and drawn an elaborately 
* inlaid spindle-legged work-table towards her, 
from the silk pouch of which she drew forth 
a huge piece of tapestry. Then he sat down 
beside her, and while the dogs endeavoured to 
tempt him to continue their boisterous sport 
by scratching and whining at his boots or 
springing on his knee, he unceremoniously 
pushed them down with one hand, while, 
leaning forward, he with the other endea- 
voured to construct various incongruous edi- 
fices by heaping together the different imple- 
ments of female industry, bonbonieres, vinai- 
grettes, flacons, and all the other miscellanies 
usually collected on such tables. 

“ I scarcely expected to see you to-day,” 
she said, taking a pair of scissors out of liis 
hand., “ How did you happen not to join the 
sledging party into Bavaria ? ” 

“ I feared they would make me drink too 
much of that sour Rhine wine, which I can- 
not learn to like ; so I refused to go with 
them. I suppose it is bad taste on my part ; 
but I think our wines better.” 

“Tokay against joliannesberg,” said the 
Baroness. 

“ Exactly. By the by, I regret to say that 
you must wait until spring for the tokay I 
promised you : we have no roads passable at 
resent, so the wine must come with my 
orses — I am sorry for the delay.” 

“ It is of no consequence. But what do 
you intend to do with more horses ? you told 
me yesterday you intended to sell your 
greys.” 

“ Very true ; but — you see — I often want 
mone} r , and am continually obliged to apply 
to my father: to do him justice he has oeen 
liberal enough — but I am a bad manager, 
and he has now informed me that he can 

send me no more — but a as many horses 

and as much brandy as I choose.” 

“ Brandy 1 ” 

“Yes; we have distilleries on our estates 
-most people in our neighbourhood have.” 

“ I suppose,” said the Baroness, “ as the 
Bavarians have breweries?” 

“Very likely; I don’t know anything 
about Bavaria as yet, excepting that the beer 
jfi good.” 

“ Well — but — about the brandy ? ” 
“Brandy be offered me, and corn too, but 


they w'ere not in my line, so I chose the 
horses.” 

“ And how many do you expect ” 

“I don’t know; a good lot at all events, 
for we have everything on a grard scale at 
home.” 

“ I wonder your father does rot sell his 
corn and brandy.” 

“ We are so quite out of the way of roads 
and markets, our brandy is sold to the peo- 
ple about us, and the produce forms the 
greater part of our income. As to the rest, 
we have everything we want for the plenti- 
ful keeping of a house, with servants and 
horses unnumbered.” 

“ But when you went to Pesth ” 

“ Oh my mother and sisters always quar- 
tered themselves on our relations ; my father 
never moved, he was bored enough by their 
coming back with all sorts of new dresses and 
ideas.” 

“ New ideas! of what kind ? ” 

“ Why, the last was, that we must invite 
all the officers quartered within ten or twelve 
miles of us to our house, and from that time 
they never were out of it ; my eldest sister 
married one of them, an Austrian, and We 
thought it a famous thing at first.” 

“ And not at last i ” 

p “Why, not exactly. When I visited her 
in Vienna, on my way here, she was living 
in a queer out of the way lodging, and could 
only afford to keep one pair of the horses my 
father had given her; then, she and her 
husband went to every one’s house who ask- 
ed them, and never gave anything at all 
themselves. I thought the concern shabby, 
and told Ilka my opinion plainly enough.” 

“I daresay she told you lid's in return.** 

“She said I was a foolish boy, and did not 
know how people lived in civilized coun- 
tries ! ” 

“ A most slighting speech,” said the Baro- 
ness, smiling ! “ unpardonable, if it had not 
been made by a relation and countrywoman.” 

“ Oh in her heart she is as much a Magyar 
as I am; nevertheless, we had a desperate 
battle, in which I should have been victori 
ous if her husband had not come to her as- 
sistance. It is only lately, however, that I 
have begun to find out what he meant by 
people in civilized countries living on money* 
and not on the raw produce of the lancl. 
When at home, I had everything I wanted, 
and never knew how it was procured — now, 
I am obliged to pay for every glass of wine 
I drink.” 

“You don’t find your present state of in- 
dependence so agreeable as you expected* 
perhaps ? ” 

“Not quite; and, if living on money be, 
as my brother-in-law says, a stride towards 
civilization, I wonder what he would call liv- 
ing, as I do now, on nothing at all ? ” 

“ That is the excess of civilization,” said 
the Baroness, laughing, “ and can only take 
place for any length of time in highly civil- 
ized <*ties ! ” 

“ Indeed ! But even in hignly civilized 
cities, if one happen to have a brute of a 
banker ” 

“Hush,” cried the Baroness, playfully 


10 


CYRILLA. 


”1 have a great respect for bankers — all re- 
putable people have ; tliere are few better 
trac *s, and in time of war or rumours of war, 

like the present ” 

“ Dh, if there were a war, I should have 
very little to do with the bankers — I could 
forage for myself then.” 

“ Of course you would ; but while we are 
waiting for the commencement of hostilities, 
suppose we drive out in the sledge ? ” 

It was ordered, and her maid appeared 
with muffling in every possible form, and a 
bonnet with long waving feathers. Now the 
sledge, with its costly furs, silver bells, tas- 
sels, and plumed horses, was by many degrees 
the handsomest in Salzburg : the occupants, 
therefore, were more pleased than surprised 
to perceive that people stopped to look at or 
after them as they dashed along the streets 
and over the bridge. They saw not the nods, 
the shrugs, the scornful smiles, or vulgar 
winks that pursued them ; with undisguised 
satisfaction and unerring hand, Polyak guid- 
ed the impatient, snorting horses and fragile 
vehicle over the frozen snow, more pleased, 
however, than his companion, when they 
wbre overtaken on the Waher Felder by the 
military sledging party to Bavaria. It 
seemed as if all the officers of the garrison 
had turned out, and each as he passed salut- 
ed with grave mien and laughing eyes, Ru- 
pert not excepted, even while he called out 
“ Ten o’clock at latest ! ” 

On their return, as Polyak was about to 
take leave, the Baroness asked him to share 
her dinner. Without a moment’s hesitation 
lie accepted the invitation ; and it was very 
evident that he felt himself quite at home 
when soon after seated opposite her, at a 
little table, in a little room, with a very little 
dinner before him. 


CHAPTER III. 

As th« hour appointed by Rupert drew near, 
the Baroness became fidgety, cross, and hun- 
gry, and the moment the clock strnck ten she 
rang the bell violently and ordered supper. 
She had time to eat it, and might have sat 
quietly ruminating afterwards, as is so strong- 
ly recommended by physicians in general, 
had not restlessness instead of quietude been 
her habit, which, as it proceeded from the 
neglected cultivation of an active mind, and 
total want of real occupation of any descrip- 
tion, was a torment to every one about or 
depending on her. The servants, even those 
who had stolen off to bed, were now put in 
requisition. One was sent with a note to 
Count Polyak to ask if the sledging party 
had not yet returned ; others were to make 
inquiries of the sentinels at the two entrances 
of the town from the Bavarian side ; others 
again to watch at open windows, to give no- 
tice of the sound of approaching sledges; 
while she herself walked up and down the 
room, not suffering uneasiness, but yielding 
unreservedly to impatience and ill-temper. 

It was in this ruffled state that she now 
awaited her nephew’s return, and it was per- 


haps a fortunate circumstance that, when he 
arrived, his companions detained him long to 
say adieu, and make promises of beating up 
his quarters during the ensuing summer 
At length they were gone, and Rupert 
bounded up the stairs, and presented himself 
to his aunt a perfect personification of gooo 
humour. 

“ Capital fellows the officers here ! ” he ex 
claimed : “ Never met a jollier set ! ” 

“ You look as if you had been more that 
jolly,” observed his aunt. 

“ Then my looks belie me,” he answered 
slightly shrugging his shoulders, and 'ther 
stooping to play with the dogs, determined 
not to commence a conversation which he 
would rather have avoided. 

“ Have you supped ?” she asked abruptly. 

“ Yes, thank you: hours ago.” 

“ And a you had a gay party and 

Count Glaneck enjoyed it as much as any of 
you?” 

Rupert stared ; he knew his aunt did not 
care the least in the world for his friend, so 
he answered laughingly, that “ Glaneck had 
been very cheerful, and he was sure would 
be extremely flattered if he heard of her kind 
inquiries about him.” 

“ Hum .... It seems he has quite got over 
the loss of his wife ! ” 

‘ Oh, no; he speaks of her constantly 
and from what he says, is not likely to find 
any one to supply her place.” 

“ And }'et lie must marry again, I suppose,” 
said the 1 ironess ; “widowers generally dc 
when they have children.” 

“Perhaps he may,” said Rupert “If I 
had known that you were curious on the 
subject, I should have asked him.” 

“ Pshaw,” cried his aunt impatiently’ ; “ he 
is a man I rather dislike than otherwise ; but 
he has been an exemplary husband, they say, 
and may have recommended you to . 

Perhaps, however, it is better to speak plain- 
ly, and say at once what I mean.” 

“I wish you would,” said Rupert; and 
perceiving that evasion was no longer pos- 
sible, he added, “ I have returned home early 
on purpose to hear all you have to say to m« 
before I leave.” 

“Must you then go to-morrow?” 

“ Yes.” 

“And your aunt and cousins hourly ex- 
pected ! ” 

“ I regret extremely not being able to re- 
new my acquaintance with them, but I can 
no longer postpone my journey ; and I should 
think that a few months sooner or later can 
be of very little importance to any of us.” 

“I think differently, however. Do you 
remember your cousins ? ” 

“ Scarcely. I have not seen them for more 
than twelve years — not since the time of the 
Royal Congress at Aix, you know, when Me- 
lanie married Count Falkenstein.” 

“Yes; I remember we had to give them 
money to go there, as some one foolishly told 
our "uncle Carl the baths might be of use to 
im. Physicians should never order baths 
for people who have not money to pay for 
them!” 

“But they were of use to him,” said Ru 


CY KILL A. 


11 


p jrt. “ He was quite cheerful and well after- 
wards.” 

“ At all events he got Melanie off his hands 
before she had time to make a fool of her- 
self,” said his aunt ; “ but, to return to your 
cousins Fernanda and Cyrilla, you have not 
told me what impression they made on 
you.” 

“ None whatever,” replied Rupert laugh- 
ing ; “ they were mere children, and did no- 
thing but learn lessons and practise the 
pianoforte from morning till night. They 
must be dreadfully accomplished by this 
time, I should think ! Melanie, however, 
made quite as deep an impression on me as 
you seem to desire. She certainly was, when 
she married Falkenstein, the most beautiful 
woman I ever saw. She is still very hand- 
some, and still the most romantic, poetical . . .” 

“ She is an authoress,” cried his aunt inter- 
rupting him — “an authoress; and I hate 
women who write books. I have no fancy 
for figuring in print, and therefore will have 
nothing to do with her. She has never taken 
the least notice of me since her marriage ; 
but I don’t want her, nor does she want me 
in any way it seems, and so we are equal. 
Your other two cousins are, however, differ- 
ently situated. I am afraid they will not be 
satisfied with the permission to occupy part 
of my house ; they, or at least their mother, 
will expect me to do something for them . . .” 

“ But surely,” said Rupert with a look of 
surprise, “surely you must have had some 
intentions of that kind when you proposed 
their coming here ? ” 

“ You seem to forget, Rupert, that you will 
be a loser in exact proportion to my generos- 
ity.” 

“ There is no generosity in the case. Give 
them at once what my uncle bequeathed 
them.” 

“ I shall do no such thing ; they have got 
enough from me already — besides, he left it 
to them only in case they should marry with 
my consent! ” 

“Oh, there will be no difficulty on that 
scor^ here, if you do not object to the mili- 
tary line. Let’s see : there’s Glaneck for one 
.... Ah, now I know why you inquired so 
particularly about him — Glaneck for one and 
Polyak for the other ! Pol is a capital little 
fellow — domestic habits, and all that sort of 
thing!” and Rupert laughed merrily, undis- 
turbed by his aunt’s frowning countenance. 

“You talk as if I were a common match- 
maker,” she observed angrily. 

“Most women,” he said, still laughing, 
“have, I believe, an inclination to provide 
for the domestic happiness of their unmarried 
friends ; and I have little doubt that you 
have already formed plans for both y ir 
nieces. Now, my advice to you is, that you 
refrain from using your authority on so very 
important an occasion : tell them that their 
uncle’s legacy is theirs when they choose to 
«laim it, and that you leave them at liberty 
to marry when and whom they please.” 

“ You talk lightly of a large sum of money, 
Rupert ; however, this is the very subject 
on which I wished to speak to you.” 

“You surely did not think that I would 


attempt to dissuade you from such laudable 
intentions ? ” asked Rupert smiling. 

“Wait until you hear my whole plan. 
You know your uncle’s and my greatest wish 
has ever been that in the course of time you 
should repurchase Adlerkron, the place from 
which we take our name, and that your 
grandfather so foolishly sold in order to buy 
shares in those odious copper mines . . . .” 

“Which,” said Rupert, “have turned out 
very well, and are a vast deal more profit- 
able than Adlerkron.” 

“ He would have sold Windhorst too, if he 
had had the power,” cried the Baroness in- 
dignantly. 

“’Twas a pity he could not, as he then 
would have retained Adlerkron,” said Ru- 
pert. “ I am sorry that place has gone out 
of the family.” 

“ Now you are talking rationally. — So you 
would like to have Adlerkron again ? ” 

“ Of course I should ; but Polinsky asks a 
fancy price for it now.” 

“And you have been negotiating with 
him about it ? ” 

“Yes; but finding it quite beyond my 
means, I intend to employ my minority capi- 
tal in another purchase.” 

“ No, no, Rupert ; Adlerkron is not beyond 
your means if you will only do as I propose. 
I must endeavour to keep my fortune un- 
divided for you, and at the same time do 
something for these girls. I cannot, there- 
fore, think of a better plan than that you 
should marry one of them ; Fernanda is too 
near your own age, but Cyrilla is scarcely 
eighteen, and when I saw her promised to bo 
very pretty.” 

Rupert had expected a proposal of mar- 
riage, and had already mentally refused all his 
female acquaintance ; his cousins had never 
once occurred to him, and, though determined 
to decline the alliance, ho was for a moment 
unprepared to answer and his aunt con- 
tinued with evident satisfaction: “ You see, 
Rupert, the connection is in every way de- 
sirable — your aunt too is such a — a — very 
worthy person, and has taken such enormous 
pains with the education of her daughters, 
that they must be everything a reasonable 
man could desire in a wife. I should have 
preferred letting things take a natural course, 
and had you consented to await their arrival, 
it is very probable that you would have 
thought of this plan yourself; but to be 
quite candid with you, I have another and 
stronger motive than I have yet ventured to 
tell you for urging this match.” 

Rupert looked up but did not speak, and 
she continued — 

“ Your determination to return to the 
north to-morrow has confirmed all my fears 
that you may at last be inveigled into a mar- 
riage with that half French girl — that artful 
Yirginie de Lindesmar, who they say actually 
attempted to poison herself in a fit of desper- 
ation about you.” 

Rupert sprang from his seat, exclaiming 
angrily, “ This is intolerable ! . How can you 
believe or repeat such nonsense, Madam ? ” 

“Whatever you may say, Rupert, some 
foundation for this report tlier« certainly 


it 


C YRILL A. 


was: her mother, who it was said at first 
joined and assisted her, grew frightened, and 
hushed up the affair . as well as she could ; 
but Virginia de Lindesmar most certainly 
attempted to poison herself one night after a 
ball, and it was supposed you intended to 
marry her from compassion, though every 
one agreed in sajdng that you had not com- 
mitted yourself in any way. I have my cor- 
respondents, you see, and know more about 
you than you imagined.” 

“ Any thing else, Madam ? ” asked Rupert 
with affected composure. 

“ Oh yes. One person who wrote to me 
on the subject added, that Virginie had con- 
fessed that she ” 

“ I beg your pardon for interrupting you, 
but when I assure you that I never thought 

of marrying her or or any one 

else, in all my life ” 

“They say, however,” persisted his aunt, 
“they say that a sort of conditional engage- 
ment exists between you.” 

“Then,” answered Rupert, impatiently, “ re- 
ports contradict each other in this instance, for 
they say, also, that she is about to be, or is ac- 
tually, married to a Frenchman — a Vicomte de 
Rubigny, and she is in all probability by 
this time in Italy with him, as he is attached 
to some embassy there. On that subject at 
least let us avoid a dispute.” 

“ I never knew any one so fond of mystery, 
or so tenacious of secrets as you are, Rupert. 
Any other would have told me the true state 
of tke case at once, when they knew they 
might rely on my discretion.” 

“I really have nothing to tell. You know 
how very intimate I have always been with 
the Lindesmars. I played with Virginie 
when she was a child, and danced and sang 
with her when 6he became older. What 
could be more natural ? If people choose to 
give us in marriage to each other, I cannot 
help it. Surely you have lived long enough 
in the world to know that reports of that 
kind arc often almost without foundation.” 

“Then the stories about her jealousy, and 
die laudanum, and her mother’s intrigues, 
are not true, and she never went to your 

rooms disguised as a student or ” 

“ Heaven and earth 1 ” cried Rupert, losing 
all patience, “ this is too much ! I have told 
you that she is married, or going to be mar- 
ried, and as she will never in any way be 
connected with our family, she cannot in the 
least interest you in future. If you have not 
anything of more consequence to discuss, I 
shall propose going to bed, as I start very 
early in the morning.” 

“Why, you have not given me any an- 
swer to my proposal about your cousin.^ 
“My cousin? Cyrilla, I think, it was you 
said? I a consider the relation- 

ship too near.” 

“ Nonsense, Rupert ! The Adlerkrons and 
Waldens are cousins, and have gone on inter- 
marrying for three successive generations ! ” 
“ I won’t marry my cousin,” said Rupert, 
folding liis arms as he leaned against the 
Btove with a look of great resolution ; “ I 
have no doubt that she is very pretty, and 
rery accomplished, and all that a reasonable 


man could desire, as you so justly observed, 
but I am not sufficiently reasonable to take 
a wife on recommendation, and must and 
will choose for myself.” 

“Your wife will have no enviable lot l ^ 
cried his aunt, angrily; “for a more obsti- 
nate, passionate, disagreeable man does not 
exist than you have become during the last 
few years ! ” 

“If such be your opinion of me,” said Ru- 
pert, with some irritation, “I cannot con- 
ceive how you could think of sacrificing your 
niece 60 barbarously.” 

“ My niece must marry whoever I please, 
and I shall not think it at all necessary to 
consult her inclinations on the subject: it 
will be very odd if I cannot control her at 
least ! You consider yourself independent of 
me, and brave my authority without the 
slightest consideration ; but there are limits 

even to my indulgence Do not try me 

too far, Rupert my affection for you is 

great, but it has bounds ; and once for all I 
tell you, that if you do not consent to marr} 
Cyrilla — I — will — never forgive you — never 
speak to you again — and all connexion be- 
tween us will end this night ! ” 

“As you please, madam.” 

“So you will not marry her? ” asked hi 
aunt, in a voice trembling with anger. 

“ No — no — certainly not.” 

“Then,” she cried, rising from her chaii 
and vehemently pushing aside everything 
with whipli she came in contact, “then, this 
must be our last interview. When youi 
w’hole conduct is a system of opposition to 
my wishes, you cannot expect that I should 
still consider you as my son, or look upon 
you as my heir I To-morrow I shall make 
another will, and I feel myself exonerated 
from the necessity of even naming you in it.” 

“ I might remind you of my uncle’s inten- 
tions and wishes,” cried Rupert, his eyes 
flashing and his face flushed ; “ and I might 
try to make you aware of the unreasonable- 
ness of your command, but — I am only too gla-d 
to escape my present thraldom on any terms ; 
and pray keep in mind that you have your- 
self pronounced me free — "discarded me. 
Gratitude for my uncle’s kindness and care, 
not mercenary motives, has bound me to you 
hitherto. I beg in future that you will al- 
together forget my existence.” 

He strode out of the room as he pronounced 
the last word, leaving his aunt in a state of 
mixed astonishment and rage. No longer 
controlled by his presence, she paced th* 
room with unequal steps, murmuring unin- 
telligibly words of dire import At the end 
of a quarter of an hour she became calmer, 
seated herself again, and, while she impa- 
tiently tapped the arms of her chair, began 
to think that she might perhaps have gone 
too far. Her threat (for it was nothing more) 
of disinheritance had been received in a man- 
ner that had completely confounded her: 
she regretted having been so premature with 
the disclosure of her plan, and saw plainly 
how injudiciously she linl acted in losing hei 
temper when she ought to have been most 
temperate. The sound of horses entering 
the gatewa}’ made her start: she felt con 


CYRILLA. 


IS 


rinced that, lute as it was, Rupert was about 
to leave her house — perhaps for ever. She 
rushed into the adjoining room, and rang 
without intermission the bell which denoted 
a summons for her maid, until she appeared. 

“ What noise is that on the stair? ” she asked 
quickly. 

“They are carrying down the carriage 
cases. I have already told them not to make 
so much noise,” she replied, quietly placing 
& chair before the toilet-table, and a pair of 
slippers beside it. 

“How absurd to leave at such an hour! 
Go directly to Baron Adlerkron, and tell him 
I wish to speak to him again — there was 
something which I forgot to say to him. Tell 

him no go at once,” she cried, 

wa^ ing her hand impatiently. 

“ Perhaps,” she murmured, pressing her 
hands together, “perhaps he will refuse to 
come to me ; and, for a girl about whom I 
am perfectly indifferent, I may have lost the 
only one of our family left me to care for, and 
whose position in the world could add digni- 
ty to mine ! I ought to have made allowance 
for his warmth of temper, and after all I could 
not expect him to take a wife without having 
seen her!” 

She listened anxiously as steps approached, 
and presently Rupert entered her room en- 
veloped in furs, and evidently on the eve of 
departure. 

After a struggle for composure, she began 
reproachfully, “I wonder, Rupert, you are 
not ashamed to give way to such violence of 
temper. You ought to endeavour to overcome 
these bursts of passion ” 

“ I thought it was you who had been an- 
gry,” he answered, with a good-humoured 
smile. 

“ Is it not anger that makes you set out on 
your journey at such an hour of the night?” 
she asked quickly. 

“ I like travelling at night ; and besides, I 
feel that I have nothing more to do here, now 
that I am to be disinherited.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! I only said that when 
[ was angry — I mean displeased. I never for 
a moment seriously thought of such a thing ! ” 

“I do not know what you thought, but I 
heard what you said, and, to prevent a re- 
newal of the subject, I disclaim all expecta- 
tions of any kind — the purport of your will 
I shall never inquire. Freedom of action is 
worth more than all you could bestow on me. 
I should act as I do now even if I were poor ; 
how much more easily can I do so when your 
fortune, large as it is, is no object to me what- 
ever.” 

“ No object whatever ! ” 

“None; for, much as I am habituated to 
wealth, there never was any one whose per- 
sonal wants were so few, or whose tastes so 
simple as mine. I am independent in every 
sense of the word.” 

“And, to prove your independence, you 
will some day marry a woman without either 
fortune or connexion ! ” 

“I have determined at all events not to 
marry Cyrilla. I feel a sort of incipient dis- 
like to her, which will probably in time ripen 
into a respectable kind of hatred.” 


“Rupert, you would provoke a saint: it is 
impossible to know whether you are jesting 
or in earnest.” 

“ Believe me, aunt, I h&ve no inclination to 
jest about matrimony ; every approach to 
the subject seems doomed to be a source of 
annoyance to me. I sometimes feel as if I 
were predestined to be unfortunate in my 
choice, or in my wife, though, to avoid it, I 
have resolved not to marry until I am des- 
perately in love with some one in every way 
desirable.” 

“Oh, Rupert, nothing can be so desirable 
as what I have proposed. I cannot under- 
stand a man making objections when every- 
thing can be arranged satisfactorily.” 

' Cannot you ? ” said Rupert, half laughing 
“ perhaps we are more inclined to make ob- 
jections than women.” 

“But you have not so much at stake. . . . / 

“ Haven’t we ? ” he said, looking impatient- 
ly towards the door. 

“Well, well, I shall say no more about it* 
but before you go you must promise to forget 
what I said to you just now.” 

“Bo you mean about Cyrilla ? ” 

“No, I mean about my will. If, however, 
you would remain until to-morrow ” 

“ If I did, you know we should spend the 
time in useless arguments.” 

“Say at once, Rupert, that you do not in- 
tend to marry.” 

“ I shall say no such tiling. Cyrilla is per- 
haps the only person against whom I feel a 
decided antipathy.” 

“ Obstinate boy ! ” 

“Boy ! ” repeated Rupert, laughing; “well 
be it so, but let me then hear no more abou; 
wives and marriage.” 

“And when may I expect to see you 

again ? ” 

“Some time next summer per — haps/ 

“And, in the meantime,” said his aunt, 

“ should I find Cyrilla I mean, in case I 

should wish to see you for a few days, will 
you not come to me?’ 

“Oli! of course, if it be possible; but un- 
derstand me, I will not marry Cyrilla.” 

“ May I at least depend on your consulting 
me before you decide on any one else? ” 

“I cannot promise that,” said Rupert ; “to 
consult is half to ask advice, which one should 
not do without some intention of following 
it ; but you shall hear time enough for us to 
quarrel about it a few weeks, at the end of 
which time ” 

“You will do exactly what you please,” 
cried his aunt, interrupting him ; “ I see you 
are incorrigible.” 

Rupert laughed, took leave, and hurried 
down the stairs into the cold night-air, with 
a light heart and a determination that many 
months should elapse before he again would 
enter the house he was then leaving. 



CHAPTER IV. 

The next day brought the travellers who haa 
been so anxiously expected. Hal they ar 
rived twenty-four hours sooner, their recep 


14 


CYRILLA. 


tion would have perhaps been different; but 
the Baroness Adlerkron now felt mere annoy- 
ance than interest as she stood at a window 
and saw, with a mixture of irritation and 
scorn, the heavily-packed hired carriage, in 
which her relatives had made their journey, 
roll slowly under the archway into the house. 
She had been watching with Polyak the 
snow-storm that had prevented them from 
sledging, and served as an excuse for him to 
remain to dinner. As he now turned away 
and began hastily to dvink off his coffee, na- 
turally supposing it necessary to leave her, 
she observed, carelessly, “You need not hur- 
ry; they will scarcely come up stairs for the 
next half hour or more, and I don't feel the 
least inclination to go to them.'’ 

In the meantime, however, her servants 
ran unbidden down the stairs. Some assisted 
to unpack the carriage, while others opened 
tlie rooms and commenced lighting the fires. 

“Pray, mamma, don't take off your cloak 
or you will be frozen,'’ cried Fernanda spring- 
ing towards her mother, and endeavouring to 
warm her hands by rubbing them in her own, 
which were equally cold and stiff. 

They looked round the room and shiver- 
ed. 

“ How gloomy ! IIow wretched and in- 
hospitable these rooms appear to me ! ” ex- 
claimed Cyriila with dismay. “ Oh, what 
a change is this ! These are vaults, not 
apartments ! ” 

“Wait until they are warm and we have 
had time to make ourselves at home in them 
before }'ou pass judgment,” said her mother, 
glancing significantly towards her sister-in- 
law’s servants. “ You are much too hasty in 
forming your opinion of places and persons.’ 

“ I don't think I shall ever feel at home 
here, or ever be warm again,” she rejoined 
heedlessly while she took off her bonnet, and 
pushed back a profusion of long fair ringlets, 
showing a bright joyous face in all the inde- 
finite beauty of extreme youth ; then sud- 
denly observing that her mother looked very 
grave, she half-playfully, half-seriously knelt 
down on a footstool beside her, and taking 
one of her hands in both hers, silently watched 
the bringing in and partial unpacking of some 
military-looking cases, on which time had 
nearly obliterated the letters and numbers 
that had for years ensured them a place on 
the baggage waggons of a very distinguished 
regiment. There was a quiet indifference to 
trifling discomforts in the manner of all 
three, — an absence of whatever was not ab- 
solutely necessary in the contents of these 
chests, that proved more plainly than words 
that the owners had travelled long and far. 
And in fact this had been the case in no com- 
mon degree ; for the Baroness Carl Adler- 
kron had never been induced to part with her 
daughters, either to send them to a school or 
to relations whose lives were more tranquil 
than her own. Ihey had, therefore, with 
her followed their father during his lifetime, 
and afterwards a constant pursuit of health 
had mado the south of France and Italy the 
scene of perpetual wanderings. Of the se- 
clusion supposed to be necessary for the pur- 
pose of education they knew nothing; even 


as children both sisters had mixed in society, 
— it had become habit, second nature to 
them ; and yet Cyriila, with her unembar- 
rassed manners and gradually acquired know- 
ledge of social life, was as little worldly, and 
quite as innocent, as any blushing girl who 
has just returned to her family alter having 
passed eight or ten years of her life in a 
Pensionnat or “Establishment,” with well 
jalousied windows, and liigh-walled grass 
garden, learning to speak French and work 
embroidery. 

When their aunt’s servants were gone, 
Fernanda began to assist the elderly grave- 
looking Swiss maid to unpack, while Cyriila 
first walked then danced round the room. 
“The furniture here,” she said merrily, “ will 
not damp our voices when we sing, or impede 
our movements when we dance.” 

“ I must say,” observed Fernanda laugh- 
ing, “our aunt has followed somewhat too 
implicitly the directions to avoid expense: 
we must have another sofa directly, that 
mamma may be able to enjoy her afternoon 
sleep. I hope the stove is beginning to get 
warm.” 

Cyriila went towards it, — not a particle 
of beat had as yet penetrated the antiquated 
mass of tiles which filled one entire cornel 
of the room, reaching to the very ceiling 
“No one would imagine,” she said, placing 
her hands on the different parts where the 
warmth was most likely to penetrate, — “No 
one, I am sure, would imagine that that civil 
housemaid of my aunt’s shoved half a tree 
into its gaping mouth ! ” 

“I think,” said Fernanda, “these rooms 
must have been intended for a porter who 
w r as to be allowed an unlimited quantity of 
wood ; we shall he obliged to spend half our 
income buying fuel.” 

“ My dear girls,” said their mother, “you 
seem to forget that we have the apartments 
free of rent. Instead of abusing the stove, 
let us give it time to warm the room, while 
w T e go to your aunt, who seeui9 to expect us 
to seek our welcome.” 

The} 7 follow-ed her as she ascended the 
stairs in silence, Fernanda endeavouring, as 
well as she could, to arrange her dress and 
smooth her rufHed hair. She was painfully 
conscious of the plainness of her appearance, 
— knew that her hair would not fall of itself 
into picturesque waves and curls like Cyril 
la’s — knew that her features w'ere irregular 
and that freckles disfigured the reddish fair 
nes9 of her complexion, — and never forgot 
that her figure, diminutive and thin, w r as par- 
ticularly unattractive. The early knowledge 
which she had acquired of these imperfections 
had ably seconded her mother’s efforts to 
make them forgotten by diversified acquire 
ments. Without decided talent, or even 
strong inclination for any of the arts, perse 
verance had made her a good musician, a 
correct painter, and a perfect dancer. 

Count Ivan Polyak was leaving the 
Baroness’ apartments as they entered them ; 
he moved aside to let them pass, and, 'while 
they scarcely observed him, he stood and de- 
liberately examined the three persons con- 
cerning whom he had lately heard so much; 


/ 




CYRILLA. 


u 


mud with whose ages, habits, hopes, fears, and 
expectations he was perfectly acquainted. 
They became conscious of their gradual ap- 
proach to the drawing-room by the barking 
of dogs, — were formally announced like ordi- 
nary visitors, though in a voice inaudible 
from the noise in the room, — and some mi- 
nutes elapsed before they were able to hear 
the few words of welcome murmured by the 
Baroness. Cold was the kiss and scrutinizing 
the glance bestowed on each niece ; and Fer- 
nanda’s lips closed rigidly, and Cyrilla’s eyes 
tilled with tears, when they saw their mother 
vainly struggling to conceal her annoyance 
at a reception so different from what she had 
expected 

“You have been long on your journey — 

Down Jolie — Minkerl, Minkerl how can 

you be so tiresome ! — I a expected 

you several days ago ! ” 

“The weather was inclement, and I was 
*1L” 

“ Dreadful misfortune being so unhealthy. 
I’m sure I hope Salzburg may agree with you. 
Nothing I dread so much as being near any 
one who is constantly ill — it is so very de- 
pressing, and one can’t do any good, you 
know ! ” 

“You speak like all those who do not 
know what illness is,” answered her sister-in- 
law, with some bitterness ; “ from me at least 
you shall hear nothing of it, and my children 
are healthy in an unusual degree.” 

The Baroness fixed her eyes on Cyrilla, and 
observed, — “She is a complete Adlerkron ; 
they have all light hair with natural curl and 
blue eyes : her eyes are darker than Rupert’s 
— how old is she ? ” 

“ Seventeen.” 

“And Fernanda? ” 

“ Twenty-three.” 

“How thankful you ought to be that the 
other two are in heaven ! What would you 
have done with four daughters now?” 

“ I can never do otherwise than regret hav- 
ing lost my children,” replied her sister-in- 
law firmly. “ Had it pleased God to leave 
them with me, he would have provided for 
them also. I have always observed that 
large families get on well in the world.” 

“ Humph ! And what do you mean to do 
with these two ? ” 

“ I hope, with your assistance, to see them 
in time happily married.” 

“That is, you have brought them here on 
speculation, and have taught them to think 
rationally about men and marriage? You 
have done well.” 

“ I hope I have been able to preserve a 
due medium,” said her sister-in-law with a 
slight degree of irony in her manner. “I 
think I can answer for my daughters not be- 
ing unreasonable in their expectations.” 

“ So much the better ; it w r ould be absurd 
if they claimed the privilege of choice. You 
will allow that if any one ever had a right 
to choose — I was that person ; and yet I 
married the man proposed by my father ; and 
had Gottfried been old instead of young, ugly 
*istead of handsome, I should still have mar- 
ried him. Love had nothing to do with the 
matter at all! ” 


“I remember hearing something to that 
purport, ” said her sister-in-law; “but my 
daughters are still in ignorance of e.rcun* 
stances that occurred before they were born, 
and in no way concern them.” 

“O,” said the Baroness, “I thought you 
might have told them the true state of the 
case when speaking of me. I do not see 
why they should not know that their uncle 
Gottfried chose me because he wanted capi- 
tal for speculations, — perhaps also because I 
was the handsomest woman of his acquaint- 
ance, and that I married him to . . . to . . . 
please my father.” 

“And,” said her sister-in-law smiling, “ and 
to punish some one else with whom you had 
quarrelled.” 

The Bareness ceased playing with her 
dogs. She even pushed Minkerl rudely 
away, as she answered, “Precisely; I did 
not choose the world to suppose me forsa- 
ken. The Waldens are too proud to endure 
pity ! ” 

“ I believe,” sajd her sister-in-law smiling, 
“I believe you have been much more envied ? 
than pitied Your life has been a series of 
fortunate events ; every speculation of your 
husband’s succeeded be3'ond his most san- 
guine expectations ; you have enjoyed health 
and wealth, and have been celebrated for 
your beauty. What can a woman desire 
more in this world ? ” 

“ Children to inherit my wealth — children 
of whom I could be proud when I grow 
old!” 


“Ah, I had forgotten that — and children 
are such a source of interest all one’s life, and 
such a comfort in one’s old age* — especially 
daughters.” 

“I don’t care for daughters,” rejoined the 
Baroness; “I should have liked to have 
had a son. You know of course,” she add- 
ed, “that, according to the wishes of Gott- 
fried, I have adopted our nephew Ru- 
pert?” . 

Her sister-in-law bowed ; a long pause en- 
sued, which was broken by the latter asking 
in a somewhat constrained voice, “How Ru- 
port had grown up — it was so many years 
since she had seen him.” 

“He is everything I could desire — gay, 
handsome, fashionable — a little obstinate 
sometimes ; but no one is faultless. By the 
by, I have something of importance, about 
which I wish to speak to you the first time 
we are alone — this evening, perhaps, when 

the young people have gone to bed * 

>But on this hint the young people, glad of 
the offered chance of escape, precipitately 
rose from their chairs, and, notwithstanding 
their aunt’s invitation to remain to suppei; 
and assurances that they had quite misun 
derstood her, they both left the room. 

The conversation between the two who 
remained was, as may be supposed, about 
the marriage of Rupert and Cyrilla. The 
Baroness acknowledged the indiscretion of 
which she had been guilty, in having spoken 
to the former before he had seen his cousinj 
and, although she did not seem to considei 
the inclinations of the latter of the slightest 
importance, she igreed wrh her sister-in-law 


it 


C Y R I L L A 


in thinking that Cyrilla should be kept in 
ignorance of the plan until Rupert had seen 
and approved of her. She then spoke in 
terms of sincere admiration of her appear- 
ance — doubted not that both girls had been 
admirably educated ; and, in short, by com- 
mending her children, made her sister-in-law 
forget the coldness of her reception, and the 
unaccountable pettishness which had been 
so evident at the beginning of the interview. 
The ready acquiescence to all her plans put 
her into good humour ; and, utterly insen- 
sible to the wearied looks of the poor inva- 
lid traveller, she detained her discussing the 
•ame topics until near midnight; nor even 
then would she have allowed her to go, had 
not her sister-in-law declared that she must 
at least ascertain that Fernanda had gone to 
bed. “Fernanda never allows any one to 
undress me but herself, as it is then we talk 
over all our little house-affairs — she is an ex- 
cellent housekeeper.” 

“ It is a pity that she is a . . . rather . . . 
plain,” said the Baroness; “but if she be 
amiable, accomplished, and economical, why 
. . one would not at all mind keeping her at 
home — every one cannot marry in this world, 
you know ! Wait a moment, and I can give 
you a skeleton key to your apartments, which 
will enable you to enter without ringing the 
cell. Good night.” 

The Baroness Carl took the key, and slow- 
»y descending the stairs entered her apart- 
ments unheard by her eldest daughter, whom 
Bhe found, ns she had expected, in the draw- 
ing-room ; but the poor girl had fallen fast 
asleep sitting perfectly upright in her chair, 
3l small lamp burning dimly on the table 
beside her, and her hand grasping the key 
with which she had intended to have admit- 
ted her mother. 

“I believe I have been asleep,” she cried, 
starting up. “Had you to wait long? who 
opened the door for you? ” 

“Your aunt has given me a key; and in 
future, when she detains me so long, you 
must promise to go to bed.” 

“What on earth could have induced you 
to remain all this time with that disagreeable 
woman ? ” asked Fernanda, while she assisted 
her mother to undress. 

A pause ensued. Her mother hesitated 
whether or not she should confide to her 
daughter the whole of her sister-in-law’s 
plan ; but the habit which she had acquired 
during the last few years of consulting Fer- 
nanda on all occasions prevailed, and she re- 
lated without the slightest reserve all that 
had been said, adding, that the idea of such 
a connexion was more familiar to her than 
her sister-in-law seemed to think, it had so 
often been proposed by their uncle Gottfried 
when they were mere children, as a good 
way of providing for Cyrilla and securing 
an eligible wife for Rupert. 

“If you could only ascertain what kind of 
man he has become!” observed Fernanda, 
thoughtfully. “lean only remember when 
he visited us at Aix that he was a tall fair- 
haired boy, with most outrageously high 
•pirita.” 

“ It would be a most desirable match,” 


said her mother, musingly, “in every way 
desirable — fortune, family, age, exactly what 
we could wish! Your aunt,” she added, 
looking up with a smile, “ seemed purposely 
to avoid even the most distant allusion to 
your uncle Gottfried’s will, but of course it 
has influenced her on the present occasion — 
j Rupert would never think of demanding Cy- 
j rillu’s little fortune ! ” 

“Bo you think it possible,” asked Fernan- 
da, “ that the five thousand Friederielis d’or 
can have induced her to form this plan? ” 

“Most assuredly, most undoubtedly; and 
] You must look out for some one who will at 
i least agree to wait until her death ; she will 
i never otherwise give her consent to your 
marriage. It is a most fortunate circum- 
stance that she has chosen Rupert for Cy- 
rilla; and she is in earnest too, for she was 
very angry with him for refusing to remain 
here and not agreeing to marry lier at once. 
I don’t in the least blame him ; I think he 
was quite right ! ” 

“And now,” cried Fernanda, “imagine hia 
surprise when he sees her — think how he 
must love her when he knows her I ” 

The conversation continued long in the 
same strain, ending by an agreement that it 
would be advisable not only to keep Cyrilla 
in total ignorance of their hopes and expec- 
tations, but even to avoid, if it* were possible, 
ever mentioning Rupert’s name when she 
was present. 

+ 

CHAPTER V. 

The Adlerkrons, or as our first acquaintance 
the Baroness, chose to have them called, the 
Carl Adlerkrons, had been but a short time 
established in Salzburg when they received 
a letter from the Countess Falkenstein, pro- 
posing an immediate visit, and saying that 
she longed to see her stepmother and sisters 
again alter so many years’ separation. If the 
former had no objection she would take 
Cyrilla away with her ; she knew that Fer- 
nanda indispensable to her mother’s com- 
fort, or she would propose carrying off both, 
<fcc. <fcc. tfec. 

“How very kind of Melanie to write so 
soon, and to propose coming for me herself 
at this time of year,” said Cyrilla. “ You will 
allow me to go, of course ? ” 

“Yes — I think so — most probably, — but I 
must first visit your aunt and hear what she 
says.” 

“ My aunt ! ” repeated Cyrilla, with a look 
of surprise: “she can have no objection; and 
if she have any inclination to direct or con 
trol us, I hope you will not permit it — your 
consent is sufficient for me.” 

Her mother and sister exchanged looks 
and then the former said quietly, “I think it 
better to ask her opinion nevertheless. Will 
you go with me!” 

“So, thank you. I cannot endure those 
odious dogs; and besides, I believe I — I ra 
tner dislike my aunt than otherwise.” 

“You must not dislike her; she really 
means well, and is interested about you.” 


C YRiLL A. 


17 


“ Perhaps so ; but it is impossible to force 
affection, e nd m t v feelings towards her nearly 
resemble antipathy. Ask Fernanda if she 
thinks my aunt a loveable person.” 

Fernanda shook her head, and bent over 
her work. 

“ May I write an answer to Melanie?” 

“ Not until I return,” replied her mother, 
with a little decided nod of her head, which 
Cyrilla understood so well, that even when 
the door closed between them she refrained 
from the expression of annoyance that rose 
to her lips, and silently continued her occu- 
pation of sketching imaginary likenesses of 
her sister Melanie, while awaiting the ter- 
mination of the conference. It last ed longer 
than any of them had expected, for her 
mother met with opposition as violent as it 
was unexpected. The Baroness would not 
hear of Cyrilla’s leaving Salzburg — how 
could her sister-in-law think of anything so 
absurd ? or how could any reasonable person 
imagine that an introduction to the society 
of a provincial town like Exford could in 
any way promote their plans for her mar- 
riage? The case would be different if 
Rupert and his regiment were quartered 
there ; hut of that there was no chance for 
the next year or two. In the mean time the 
less Cyrilla was seen or known the better : 
she had already perceived that even in 
Salzburg people were beginning to pay her 
more attention than was desirable ! 

Prudence predominated, and the Baroness 
Carl yielded; but she softened the announce- 
ment to Cyrilla by saying that she thought 
it very probable that her aunt would change 
her mind in the course of a few months, and 
that it would only be necessary to request 
Melanie to postpone her visit, and delay her 
journey for a short time. 

That same day the Baroness wrote a letter 
to Rupert, beginning with entreaties, and 
ending with commands that he would forth- 
with return to Salzburg — his aunt Sophy 
was ready to receive him as a son, and Cyr- 
illa was everything that the most fastidious 
of men could desire. 

Rupert did not keep her long in suspense; 
his answer came by return of post. 

“ He was very glad to hear that his cousin 
was so charming — he liked having pretty 
cousins. On the subject of marriage his 
ideas were unchanged ; no one should ever 
force a wife upon him. With respect to re- 
turning to Salzburg, that was at present 
impossible ; he could not ask for leave of 
absence for some time, and when he did it 
would be to go to Ex fort, where he hoped 
to be in the month of May, for the purpose 
of purchasing a place called Freilands, from 
Prince N.: Melanie and FalkeiiHtein had 
written to him about it, saying that it was 
within a few miles of the town, well stocked 
with game, and exactly the sort of thing he 
had been trying to get.” 

Now, completely convinced that the only 
chance of bringing Rupert and Cyrilla to- 
gether would be to send the latter to Exfort 
when Melanie again wrote to say that she 
would delay her journey to Salzburg until 
February, and that she would take her 
sister to Berlin and have her presented at 
Court before they went to Exfort — there was 


j no further difficulty made, the Baroness, 

| however, observing, “That she hoped Mel- 
anie was steady enough to take charge of 
such a girl as Cyrilla !” 

“ Cyrilla is steadier than you imagine.” 

“ She is, however, very young,” continued 
the Baroness, “and so pretty that she will 
have opportunities enough of making a fool 
of herself.” 

“ I must say, I do not apprehend any dan- 
ger whatever.” 

“But I do. Melanie is to' full of senti- 
ment and poetry to observe what is goinf' 
on about her. I heard lately that she In 
lieves'in ghosts and animal magnetism, ar 
all sorts of nonsense.” 

“ That will not, however, make her ho 
a dangerous place for Cyrilla. During t. 
years we have been separated, I have con- 
stantly heard of her from friends and rela- 
tions of my own with whom she is intimate. 
When she first married I was uneasy about 
her I confess, but. the accounts have been 
satisfactory in every respect, and she has 
merely retained a few odd romantic notions 
that only find vent in words ; besides, Count 
Falkenstein is such a steady, rational do- 
mestic man, that I could not desire a 
better protector for Cyrilla than he will 
be.” 

“ Perhaps so, if lie would give himself the 

trouble to be one but ho lives in his 

office and his study, and pores from morn- 
ing till night, over parchments and protocols, 
as It he were prime minister instead of pres- 
ident of a provincial government.” 

“ I have been told that ho has a great deal 
of business to transact,” said the Baroness 
Carl as she rose to take leave; “but he over- 
sees and rules his own house as completely 
as he presides over the district confided to 
his charge.” 

“Then you mean to write to hirn about 
Rupert perhaps ?” 

“ Certainly not ; but if you think we ought 
to explain to Melanie or hint to Cyrilla 

“Better say nothing,” cried the Baroness 
quickly. “I would give much that I had 
never mentioned Cyrilla’s name to Rupert ! 
most probably what l have said will prevent 
him from ever looking at her.” 

The Baroness smilod incredulously. 

“ Oh, you don’t know what a spirit of op- 
position he has ! However there is no use 
in talking about it any more ; let us hope 
for the best, and don’t forget that I expect 
you all to coffee to-morrow. We must talk 
about the Carnival, and consider whether 
or not it be advisable for Cyrilla to go into 
society here or not.” 

The question was decided to Cyrilla’s sat- 
isfaction ; she was to be allowed to enjoy 
herself at that age when enjoyment is upvt?- 
loyed by recollections of the past or care for 
the future. 

And the Carnival commenced. The Car- 
nival ! that word which, to untravell.d 
English ears, conveys merely some vague 
ideas of masquerades and mummeries, but 
to the inhabitants of catholic Europe pleas- 
ures innumerable, the more valued because 
the time is restricted from Twelfth Night to 


18 


C Y RILL A. 


Shrove Tuesday. How oftt i is the question 
asked, “ Shall we have a short or long 
Carnival ? ” How often are the new alma^ 
naes consulted ; and wk£n the weeks are few, 
how quickly the balls follow each other ; 
how much pleasure (perhaps we should say 
amusement) is compressed into the limited 
space. Every rank of society has its balls, 
from the court down to the very lowest 
grade of servants. Dancing is in Germany 
a passion which pervades all classes alike — 
in other respects they have but little in com- 
mon, and seldom mix. Commerce has not 
often enabled Germans to amass enormous 
•iches; and even were individuals of the 
urgher class to become possessed of extra- 
dinarv wealth, it would not raise them 
.,ove tneir original sphere, so stftmg is the 
line of demarcation drawn by birth and for- 
tified by prejudice. 

In England but no; we will not say 

what wealth can do there. Cleverer pens 
have already described the rich parvenu's 
progress — his almost certain elevation, though 
devoid of all that commands respect save 
wealth alone. We must, however, also re- 
member that in England talent and intel- 
lectual eminence of every description will 
enable the possessor to rise, perhaps even 
more quickly, and certainly more agreeably, 
in the social scale, whereas both are alike 
powerless in Germany. Birth and genealogy 
describe the position in life so completely that 
it is a physical impossibility to change it, in- 
asmuch as none can give themselves other 
fathers and forefathers than those from whom 
they have their origin ; while the multiplicity 
of the class denominated noble, enabling them 
generally to marry among themselves, this 
spirit of caste is kept up with a rigour little 
inferior to that of India. The low caste (not 
noble) are very frequently admirers or wor- 
shippers of the high caste (nobles); many 
wish also to belong to them — some, irritated 
by the insuperable barrier opposed to their 
ambition, hate and ridicule the whole aristoc- 
racy ; while others, more t^asonable, are sat- 
isfied with their citizen state, and regard the 
nobles as a class apart, who have peculiar 
ideas, habits, and whims of their own, to 
which they have an hereditary right not 
worth disputing. A “ noble ” in Germany, 
no matter how impoverished he may be, or 
how low his station in life, never loses the 
thought, “I am a nobleman ; ” and this 
idea enables him to look down on the richest 
and most prosperous burgher with a sort of 
proud contentedness that would be perfectly 
incomprehensible to an Englishman. 

The prerogatives of the nobility have late- 
ly been much and justly curtailed; some are 
however still retained, and among them one 
which is not considered such in England — 
the right of being presented at and frequent- 
ing the court. This privilege, possessed with 
few exceptions exclusively by them, is pretty 
generally claimed, though valued by many 
more as an outward and visible sign of no- 
bility than as a means of exhibiting their loy- 
alty ; but as in all communities it is the 
endeavour of a few to raise themselves above 
the level of thoise with whom they associate, 


and one observes this propensity strongly 
developed, as phrenologists Krould say, wher- 
ever women take the lead, so even in the 
social intercourse of the privileged class, 
there are well known divisions and distinc* 
lions, the most common and comprehensive 
being that called the Haute Voice. Mrs. 
Trollope, in her amusing work, “ Vienna and 
the Austrians,” speaks of la creme and creme 
de la creme as further distinctions used at 
Vienna. That many other metropolises 
aspire to the same extreme nicety in the 
classification of their “first society” is be 
yond a doubt, and if they fail, it is not from 
want of good will but want of numbers. The 
effort has been, and is being made, in smaller, 
and very small cities, though where a few 
fortunate individuals fancy themselves creme y 
their numerical force is not sufficient to sub- 
stantiate their claims, or enable them to be 
quite exclusive. In order to fill their rooms, 
they are under the necessity of inviting to 
their balls and soirees those who are mod- 
estly contented with the name of Haute Voice , 
and who are for the same reason obliged to 
mix unreservedly with the court-going no- 
bility. 

That in Salzburg there was a Haute Volie 
was a matter of coursfe — the more tyrannical 
as there was no court with equalizing con- 
descension to moderate its arrogance. The 
Baroness Adlerkron was one of its members, 
though not the most revered among them ; 
but even those who spoke slightingly of her 
conduct past and present, and who unreserv 
edly ridiculed her ill-lighted ball-room and 
economical suppers, did not dare to oppose 
her sway. She was, and had been all her 
life, what is called fashionable, nor was she 
likely to lose that enviable title to considera- 
tion, having both wealth and connexion to 
secure her claims. As soon as she discovered 
that her nieces were even more accomplished 
than she had expected, their acquirements 
were on “all occasions put in requisition, with 
out the slighest consideration for their in- 
clinations. The very unwillingness which 
they occasionally manifested to leave theii 
mother acting as a sort of stimulant to her 
selfish feelings, she not only insisted on hav- 
ing them constantly with her, but also ac- 
companying her wherever she went. On the 
evenings that she now was u at home,” her 
house began to be crowded ; there alone 
tableaux were got up, and masks and sledg- 
ing parties arranged. Count Polyak was no 
longer the only frequent visiter, though he 
continued to appear day by day with a punc- 
tuality which first surprised and then amused 
both sisters. Their presence never in the. 
least interfered with his habits : he came at 
the same hour, sat in the same place, talked 
in the same monotonous tone of the same not 
particularly interesting events ; and though 
his attentions became by degrees a little di- 
vided, the so very much larger portion was 
still devoted to the Baroness, that she was 
quite satisfied ; indeed, the idea of finding 
rivals in her nieces had never once entered 
her head, so certain did she still feel of the 
power of her station and beauty. 

The limited weeks of the Carnival pass^o 


CYRILLA. 


gaby over, and the so md of sledging bells 
and mazurka music was still ringing in Cy- 
rilla’s ears, when mother letter from her 
Btep-sister arrived to name the day of her 
arrival. “ How quickly the time lias passed 
since we came here ! ” she said, after having 
carefully read the long, well-written pages ; 
“I never thought I should have* liked Salz- 
burg so much ; and Count Polyak says it is 
even pleasanter in summer ! ” 

“ But,” said her mother, “ in summer there 
are no balls or masked sledging parties ! ” 

“ Of course not ; but waterfall, lake and 
alp parties must be still gayer. 1 should not 
at all have minded if Melanie had written to 
say she could not come for me until au- 
tumn ! ” 

“ Indeed * 

“The north of Germany,” she continued, 
“ is not to be compared to the south ; even 
my aunt allows that the climate here is 
pleasanter, the country much more beauti- 
ful ; but at all . events, people are of more 
consequence to me than places. Here I have 
you and Fernanda, and dozens of gay ac- 
quaintances, and there, nobody I care about, 
excepting Melanie and my cousin Rupert. I 
confess I rather wish to see him” 

Her mother and sister were silent, and she 
idded, “ Neither of you appear to remember 
how very near a relation he is — a sort of 
orother in faot, as we have no other. Count 
Polyak says I am exceedingly like him.” 

“What else does Count Polyak say, my 
lear '( ” asked her mother, smiling ; “he 
leems to have become your oracle late- 


“ He is the only person who can, or will, 
tell me anything about Rupert,” said Cyrilla, 
laughing. 

“ And what has he told you ? ” asked Fer 
nanda, quickly. 

“ I thought you felt no sort of curiosity or 
interest concerning him,” said Cyrilla, arch- 
ly ; “ at least you said something to that 
effect a short time ago, when I spoke to you 
about him.” 

“ Perhaps she did not like to exert her 
imagination so unnecessarily,” observed her 
mother ; “ so uselessly, I may say, for neither 
oY you can possibly have the least idea what 
he now is.” 

“I have a tolerably good idea, neverthe- 
less,” said Cyrilla, pertinaciously. “In ap- 
pearance he is a perfect Adlerkron, tall, fair, 
and from what Count Polyak says of him in 
other respects, I wish with all my heart he 
were really my brother ! He was immensely 
popular here, and more than one of our ac- 
quaintances had serious intentions of marry- 
ing him I ” 

“ Marrying him ! ” repeated her sister. 
“Was Mademoiselle de Bockenheim one of 
them ? ” 

“Yes. How did you know that ? ” 

“ I knew she had been in the habit of com- 
ing here with her father, and I asked her 
something about Rupert one evening ” 

“ So you have been making inquiries too ! ” 
cried Cyrilla, laughing ; “ but I don’t think ycu 
have heard as much as I nave.” 

I have not hear<f of his ’ntending to mar i 


19 

Mademoiselle de Bockenheim,” said Fernaula, 
smiling. 

“ Nor I either,” rejoined Cyrilla ; “ and 

Count Polyak says it is more than probable 
he will never marry — certainly not until he 
is quite old. He has got that unfortunate ma- 
nia with which men of large fortune are sc 
often afflicted, of fancying that no woman 
really cares for him, but that any one would 
marry him, in order to be joint possessor of 
Windhorst, Lanneck, Felsheim, and all his 
other possessions.” 

“ And yet,” said Fernanda, “ I have heard 
that he is a man one could like for himself 
alone.” 

“ 0 yes ; Count Polyak says he liked him 
very much , every one liked him ; and as, 
after all, his matrimonial fancies do not in any 
way concern us, I have determined not to let 
them interfere with the affection which one 
ought to feel for so near a relation. Don’t 
you think I am right, mamma ? ” 

“ Quite right. And now, go and let Justine 
try on your new dresses ; she says you run 
away from her just as you used to do when 
you were a child ! ” 


+ 

CHAPTER VI 

The day on which the Countess Falkenstein 
was to arrive, was spent in anxious expecta- 
tion. The sisters had not met for twelve years,, 
and a good deal of curiosity was mixed with 
a sort of affectionate solicitude. While their 
mother, according to a custom acquired during 
years of constant ill health, lay on a sofa and 
slept, Fernanda and Cyrilla kept up a whis- 
pered conversation, which, from the force of 
habit, promoted instead of disturbing her 
slumbers. Long and earnestly they spoke, 
for it was probably the last time they would 
be alone together for many months, and as 
they had never y$£ been separated even for a 
day, these months assumed the importance of 
years, and reiterated were Fernanda’s entrea- 
ties that her sister would write often, and 
without reserve. 

Cyrilla was too happy herself to observe 
the effort which it cost her companion to 
speak composedly of their separation ; but she 
listened attentively to her proffered advice, 
and made many promises, which, in the sequel, 
she found it impossible to fulfil. 

“ Melanie does not seem to be very exact 
as to hours,” she observed, at the end of a 
silence which had lasted some minutes. “She 
wrote that she would arrive about two o’clock, 
and it will soon be four, and so dark in these 
rooms that I cannot see to work any more. I 
wonder how she will like my aunt’s having 
invited a large party to stare at her 1 ” 

“Not at all, I should think,” answered Fer- 
nanda. “ I am sure she would prefer spend- 
ing the evening alone with us ; and if she ar- 
rive late, which seems probable now, it will 
be very disagreeable to her changing her 
dress to meet a number of people she does 
not care to see. But, talking of dro® ” she 
continued, rising quickly, “ reminds 


C Y R I L L A. 


20 

I have not given Justine any directions about 
mamma’s.” 

“ What’s the matter? ” cried their mother, 
starting up; “has Melanie arrived? ” 

“No, mamma. I am sorry I have disturbed 
you.” 

“ I have slept long enough, too long, I be- 
lieve,” she said, smothering a yawn. “ Your 
aunt requested I would go to her early ; so I 
think, if you will ring for Justine, I may as 
well dress and go at once.” 

“ I suppose you allow me to remain here, 
and receive Melanie,” said Cyrilla. 

“ Yes; but tell her that your aunt expects 
to see her.” 

Cyrilla returned to her place at the window. 
It was in a sort of alcove, formed by the 
thiacnoss of the walls, and raised a few steps 
ab^e the level of the rest of the room. The 
^height of the windows from the floor gave a 
sombre, prison-like appearance to the apart- 
ment, but had the great advantage of securing 
the inhabitants from being seen by passengers 
in the street, while the eievation gave them 
a more extended view, both up and down it. 
As the evening closed in, and heavy drops of 
rain began to plash into the half-melted snow, 
Cyrilla retreated to the stove, and sitting 
down beside it, seemed to think profoundly— 
and, in fact, thoughts came crowding fast upon 
her, chasing each other like the phantasma of 
a dream ; but if one might judge, by the half- 
smiling, tranquil expression of her delicate, 
childlike face, as it rested in the palm of her 
hand, the thoughts were of a cheerful, almost 
pleasant description. Let us not attempt to scru- 
tinize them ; they were those of any girl of her 
age when on the eve of a journey to an un- 
known land and to unknown people ; she would 
inevitably fall in the estimation of the grave 
reader, were even an attempt to be made to 
follow the "wild excursions of her imagination, 
as her cousin Rupert, of whom she knew little, 
and the town of Exfort, of which she knew 
nothing, passed before her mind’s eye, — the 
President’s house — shoals of new acquaint- 
ances, and scores of officers, who all danced 
inimitably 1 A dim, distant vision of some- 
thing or somebody peculiarly interesting and 
attractive followed ; and then the long-ex- 
pected sound of carriage wheels and a postil- 
ion’s horn became audible, the latter making 
“ assurance doubly sure ” that travellers w ere 
approaching. Never had a horn sounded more 
gaily — and that is saying a good deal, for all 
postilions have that appendage in Germany, 
and on entering and leaving a provincial 
town, blow it lustily too — on the latter occa- 
sion, solely for the purpose of attracting at- 
tention, the sound drawing all idlers to the 
windows ; and, at an early hour in the morn- 
ing, it is rather amusing to watch the different 
stages of the various toilets, from the wild- 
looking head which has just left the pillow, 
to the half drawn-on coat, that, in the hurry 
of opening the window, hangs hussar-like 
over the shoulder. 

Cyril la’s haste in ringing the bell, aud or- 
dering the door to be opened, was unneces- 
sarv. The Bavarian postilions, in their blue 
and silver liveries, on turning the corner of 
the street, had put their horses into a walk : 


had they been asked why, they would have 
said, it was on account of the rough pave 
ment, or uncertainty about which was tht 
Walden house: but we know better — they 
had begiu to blow their favourite song— 

“ Die Senderin ist a Mildel 
\Yie Milly und wie Blut, 

Sio ist dem frisclien J&ger 
Tom ganzen Herzen gut.” 

And until it w r as ended there was no chance 
of more rapid motion — the very horses knew 
it, they sti etched out their heads and shook 
themselves in their harness as if already on 
their way to the stable. The appearance, 
however, of the ostentatiously parading por- 
ter at the entrance to the house prevented a 
da capo, and a few "words, of encouragement 
spoken to the horses brought them into a trot, 
and the l&rge heavy travelling carriage, with 
the usual noise and commotion, under the* 
archway. 

“My dear Melanie,” cried Cyrilla, eagerly, 

“ we have been expecting you for hours! the 
day has appeared endless to me! We thought 
from vour letter that you would arrive at 
two o’clock.” 

“So I should— or even earlier, had I been 
travelling with the President ; but when I 
am alone I never hurry myself : if you are 
punctual you will win his heart directly. 
Let me look at you,” she added, drawing hei 
towards the window, “you have grown tall- 
er of course, but your face seems just the 
same, as well as 1 can judge in this dark 
room.” 

“Justine, bring the lamp,” said Cyrilla, 

“ and a something to eat I dare say you 

are hungry,” she added, turning to Melanie, 
who was throwing aside her shawl. 

“Not at all. I dined at Reichenhall, 
where we last changed horses, s.nd one of the 
causes of my delay was going to see the salt 
springs there : I had to descend under ground, 
and they made me put on a coat and a broad- 
brimmed hat, and gave me a light in my 
hand. I make it a point to see every thing 
of that kind now, as I am at present writing 
a description of my rambles in my native 
land.” ( 

“Are you, indeed!” said Cyrilla, “you 
must let me read it before it is printed — 
what is the name to be?” 

“I think I shall call it, ‘Wild Flowers 
plucked by the Way to form a Wreath of 
Prose and Poesy 1 * You have no idea of the 
importance of an attractive name for works 
of this kind. But now tell me — where is 
Fernanda — and where is ”... . * 

“They are at my aunt’s, where a largo 
party have assembled expressly to see you. 
It is very annoying ; for, as you only remain 
one night here, we would rather have had 
you all to ourselves.” 

“ It would have been pleasanter, as I don’t 
want to see your Salzburg people,” she an 
swered, taking her sister’s arm, and walking 
into the adjoining room. “ Tell me, love,* 
she continued, looking round her with a calm 
scrutinizing gaze, “tell me, is your — a — a 
our mother satisfied to live in these apart- 
ments ? ” 


CY1ULL A. 


o 


“0 yes; she says we ought to be glad to 
have them. Had you but seen them when 
we first came here, you would have had rea- 
son to be surprised, but since they have been 
properly furnished, they do well enough. 
We never see any one here, as we are oblig- 
ed to spend almost our whole time with my 
aunt, who scarcely allows Fernanda a few 
hours a-day to practise either her siqging or 
any tiling else, as she is accustomed to do.” 

“Practise! must she still practise?” 

“ Fernanda does, regularly.” 

“And is then your mother — just — what — 
she used to be ? ” asked Melanie, with some 
hesitation. 

“I don’t quite understand you,” said Cvril- 
ia, looking towards her inquiringly. 

“ I mean — does she come into your room 
in the morning with her watch in her hand, 
saying, ‘Time gone past — never can be re- 
called.’ Are you obliged to get up as early 
as formerly and learn all day? ” 

“0 no,” cried Cyrilla, laughing. “I wish 
mamma were strong enough to do so now ! 
It was latterly Fernanda who took her place, 
and used to talk of the proper employment 
of time, and the necessity of acquiring know- 
ledge.” 

“Good heavens!” cried Melanie, with a 
look of alarm, “you don’t mean to say that 
Fernanda, my sister Fernanda, has become a 
pedagogue in petticoats ! ” 

“ A what ? ” asked Cyrilla. 

“Ho matter — is Fernanda like her mo 
thcr? ” 

“Yes, very” 

“In mind or person? ” 

“Both.” 

“Well, thank goodness you are not — you 
Are the image of my handsome — my glorious 
father!” She bent forward and kissed her, 
is the French say, with effusion. 

“Did you-*-do you — not like mamma?” 
asked CyrilLl, hesitatingly. 

“Don’t look so shocked, love — I daresay I 
shall like her now extremely — In fact I did 
like her formerly as 'much as my fear of her 
would permit.” 

“ How could any one be afraid of mam- 
ma?” exclaimed Cyrilla. 

“ Hot good children like you and Fernan- 
da , but has she never told you what a wild 
spoiled creature she found me when she mar- 
ried? How unmanageable I was — how I 
was sent to school, and returned home in the 
holidays not having learned any thing?” 

“ Ho. She told me you had a great talent 
for drawing and painting, which you neglect- 
ed most unpardonably.” 

This was a fact of which Melanie did not 
like the recollection. It had been the re- 
mark of one of her schoolfellows in a moment 
of envious feeling, “That Mademoiselle 
d’Adkrkron inherited her genius for draw- 
ing from her maternal grandfather, who had 
been a painter!” From that day Melanie 
had thrown aside her crayons, and no threats 
'r entreaties had ever been able to induce 
her t j cultivate the talent that so eminently 
predominated in her nature as to be inextin- 
guishable. The ideas denied one form of ex- 
pression sought another : the fertile imagina- 


tion found vent in rhymes and in tl e com- 
position of picturesque dresses, which were 
shown to advantage by the placing of her 
tall graceful figure in the most fascinating 
but sometimes too evidently studied atti 
tudes. 

“I never draw,” she said after a pause; 

“ but the little knowledge I have of colors is 
very useful in choosing dresses. I hope you 
know how to dress yourself veil, Cyrilla? I 
assure you it is quite as necessary as any 
other accomplishment for a woman.” 

“I have had but little experience,” answer- 
ed Cyrilla. “ We have always been so poor 
that economy has been our first object.” t 

“How very distressing! In fact, our aunt 
upstairs is your only hope, I suppose? ” 

“ Exactl}’ — and rather a forlorn one too. 
But I am sure she is expecting you all this 
time ! ” 

“ Let her expect me a little longer then — 
she is not likely to leave me a legacy.” 

“As to that,” said Cyrilla, “we are un 
pleasantly in her power; for if she refuse 
her consent to either Fernanda’s or my mar- 
riage, no matter how eligible it may be, we 
must wait until her death to inherit my un- 
cle’s legacy, and her life is nearly as good as 
ours. Rupert is her heir. She informed us 
that she had adopted him, before we had 
been an hour in her house. I think she did 
so to prevent our expectations from being 
too great.” 

“One might almost think that wealth at- • 
tracted wealth,” said Melanie, “rich people 
inherit so much more than poor. My aunt 
would do better were sh6 to bestow some of 
her large fortune on you and Fernanda in- 
stead of Rupert, who does not want, and 
will not thank her for it.” 

“.We shall see him in. Berlin, shall we 
not?” asked Cyrilla. 

“ Of course, and as we shall be there a 
week or ten day?, he can hardly avoid seeing 

y° u -” 

“Hardly avoid seeing me!” repeated Cy- 
rilla. 

“There is no use in concealing from you. 
Cyrilla, that he showed such unpardonablc- 
indiffcreuce — in fact looked so bored when I 
spoke to him of you, that I resolved he should 
not hear that you were to accompany me 
home. I don’t think he even observed my, 
silence about you the last time I saw him — 
he talked of nothing but Virginie de Lindes 
mar’s marriage to the Yicomte de Rabigny. 
How, well as lie knows the Lindesmars, they 
ought not to interest him more than his own 
cousins-german ! ” 

“I suppose,” said Cyrilla, thoughtfully, 

“ he does not like poor relations.” 

“ 0 no, I must not do him injustice,” cried 
Melanie, warmly ; “ that is not at all like him 
— he is both good-natured and generous, and 
it is impossible not to forgive his carelessness 
when one sees that he does not mean any- 
thing unkind. However, he will be at Ex- 
fort the beginning of May,, and then you will 
see enough of him to judge for yourself. — 
What noise is that ? Who is coming ? ” 

“Mamma and Fernanda most probably,’* 
answered Cyrilla, opening the door ; and sin? 


C YRILL A. 


t2 


then watched with some curiosity the meet- 
ing between her mother and stepsister. — 
Nothing could be more cordial. It seemed 
as if the thin bent form and care-worn fea- 
tures of her mother had dispelled the awe of 
Melanie on the one side ; while the affection- 
ate manner and dignified grace of her still 
beautiful stepdaughter had, on the other, 
nearly removed the misgivings which remi- 
niscences of twelve years before had in- 
spired. 

“ Is Melanie at all altered, mamma ? ” ask- 
ed Cyrilla, as she observed the almost anx- 
ious scrutiny with which her mother observ- 
ed her. 

“No — yes — that is, her face is the same — 
her figure has grown much fuller.” 

“ On don’t say so,” exclaimed Melanie, 
“the idea makes me miserable. I should 
like to be just as Cyrilla is — slight, yet not 
thin.” 

“ Cyrilla must have quite grown out of 
your recollection,” observed Fernanda. 

“Very nearly, and you too — let me look at 
you.” Fernanda bore the inspection with a 
good-humoured smile. 

“I could be afraid of you, Fernanda — you 
look too sensible, and,” she added with a 
sigh, “ I fear trop peu sensible for me!” 

“And yet,” said Fernanda, archly, “I like 
poetry, and know one little volume of poems 
quite by heart ” 

“ Is it possible ! ” cried Melanie, blushing 
with pleasure ; “ and I did not dare to send 
any of my works to you ! ” 

44 Pray send them to us in future,” said her 
stepmother; “your poems are very pretty 
and lady-like.” 

“I did not know,” said Melanie, “whether 
or not you allowed my sisters to read fiction 
of any kind. You formerly disapproved of 
it, I know.” 

“ Because,” said her mother, smiling, “ you 
were at that time so fond of such works, that 
you would not read anything else.” 

“I don’t know what mamma may have 
been formerly,” said Cyrilla, laughing ; “ but 
she can now, with all her wisdom, become as 
absorbed as any one in a new novel 1 ” 

“I am glad to hear it,” said Melanie; “for' 
my recollections made me suppose that she 
condemned all works of imagination. I 
may now perhaps venture to say, that those 
who do so are deprived not only of one of 
the greatest intellectual enjoyments, but of 
two-thirds of the literature of every known 
language.” 

“Do you hear, mamma?” said Cyrilla. 

“ Yes, and I agree with Melanie; but there 
are some years of one’s life that ought not to 
be devoted to mere ‘ enjoyment,’ even if it 
be, as she correctly observes, 4 intellectual.’ 
I should not, my dear child, have limited your 
reading of such works, had I not a few years 
ago discovered a tendency to romantic senti- 
mentality in your disposition, which might 
have caused you much imaginary and some 
real unhappiness in the course of your life : 
but,” she added, glancing towards Melanie, 
“ but I am happy to say all that seems now 
quite eradicated.” 

Melanie bent forward eagerly, as if about 


to speak, but suddenly drawing in her brtatl^ 
remained silent. Perhaps her stepmother ob- 
served the movement for she continued, a: 
if some opposition had been made to her last 
remark, “Yes, I am happy to say so, for 
nothing can be more wretched than a girl 
who is poor, and therefore in some degree 
compelled to marry, having her head full ot 
romantic ideas that can never be realized : 
either she refuses establishments which might 
content any rational woman, or, accepting 
one, her w hole existence afterwards is a se- 
ries of petty annoyances, which, if she have 
more feeling than intellect, end by complete- 
ly undermining her domestic happiness.” 

Melanie, confused and visibly shrinking, 
made no attempt to interrupt the speaker, 
who continued, “Nothing is more unfortu- 
nate for a woman than to have a too exalted 
and poetical idea of the passion of love ; dis- 
appointment must be her portion in such a 
case, for there is little poetry in real life, and 
the sooner w r e learn to be satisfied with plain 
homely reality the better. I shall consign 
Cyrilla to your care to-morrow, my dear 
Melanie, the healthiest and happiest of hu- 
man beings : watch over these inestimable 
blessings, and bring her back to me as ” 

“You are filling my mind with doubts and 
fears,” exclaimed Melanie, anxiously inter- 
rupting her. “ How can I be gure that the cli- 
mate of the north of Germany will 6uit her 
constitution as well as that of Italy? She 
is no longer a child — may find somebody at 
Exfort on whom she may bestow her affec- 
tions ” 

“ In either of these cases, your responsibil 
ity ceases,” said the Baroness Carl, with a 
satisfied smile. “I have not the least objec- 
tion to her finding ‘somebodj^’ at Extort 
worthy of her affection, as, with the excep- 
tion of Fernanda, I know r no one more likely 
to be happy herself, and promote the happi- 
ness of another, as Cyrilla.” While speak- 
ing, the idea of Rupert filled her mind as 
completely as if he alone existed, as if there 
were not other 4 bodies ’ in the world possess- 
ing quite as much attraction for her daughter 
as her refractory anti-matrimonially disposed 
nephew. 

“ I think,” said Fernanda, “ we ought now 
to go to my aunt.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

The effect produced by Melanie’s “graceful 
presence ” on her aunt’s guests is not worth 
recording ; still less worthy of notice would 
be the journey northward with Cyrilla, in a 
comfortable unadventurous travelling car- 
riage, during the short days of a not particu- 
larly cheerful winter. They reached Berlin 
a day later than they had intended, as Mela- 
nie never left any place at the time appoint- 
ed; but the President was still at the hotel, 
and apparently so immersed in business, that 
they had more than a week still at their dis- 
posal. It was spent in visiting Melanie’s 
friends and acquaintances, introducing Cyril- 
la to them, drives in the environs when t\ e 


CYRILLA. 


weather permitted, and presentations to the 
different members of the royal family. 

The day on which Cyrilla was to be pre- 
sented to the Crown Princess arrived — the 
hour appointed was late, but Melanie retired 
to her dressing-room soon after four o’clook. 
She was at that age when art and attention 
can still almost quite supply the charm of 
youth, and therefore considered her toilet an 
affair of great importance. “Besides,” she 
observed half apologetically to her sister, 
who laughed at the idea of so much time be- 
ing so employed, “Besides, my dear, we 
have been out the whole afternoon, and my 
nose being more susceptible of cold than 
yours, if I were hurried in dressing, I should 
infallibly have a flushed face all the evening. 
You can amuse yourself trying the new mu- 
sic you chose to-day.” 

“ But do you not think it may disturb the 
President ? ” asked Cyrilla ; “ he is in the next 
room writing.” 

“ O no ; he says your music never disturbs 
him; he quite delights in hearing you sing.” 

Cyrilla turned to the pianoforte, and began 
to look over a quantity of music that lay 
upon it, occasionally singing, but more fre- 
quently playing the different parts intended 
for the voice, until a thick snow-shower, be- 
ginning to hurry on the close of evening, 
made her efforts to distinguish the notes fruit- 
less. She rose, watched for a few seconds the 
hurrying pedestrians in the street, and then, 
walking to the other end of the room, took 
possession of that side of a comfortable caiis- 
euse which enabled her to turn away from the 
cheerless prospect that the windows offered. 

While still indulging in a few sage thoughts 
on the shortness of winter days, the gloomi- 
ness of falling snow, and the bore of presen- 
tations at court, which gave people the trouble 
of dressing — going out — waiting — and all for 
from ten to fifteen minutes’ conversation (if 
such it may be called) with some royal per- 
sonage, who had previously to be informed 
of one’s' name and condition, in order to be 
able to ask the few uninteresting questions 
usual on such occasions, she heard the sound 
of quick-approaching steps, and a moment 
after a tall officer entered the room, saying to 
the servant, who had in vain endeavoured to 
announce him, — “Tell the Countess I have 
been at Potsdam the last ten days, and beg 
of her not in the least to hurry her toilet.” 
He evidently did not at first perceive Cyril- 
la ; for, throwing his gloves on the table, he 
unbuckled his sabre and walked to the win- 
dow — then, lightly humming a tune, turned 
back and strode towards the stove, where he 
suddenly became aware of the presence of a 
half-reclining figure enveloped in a large 
shawl, with a black velvet bonnet and long 
veil that concealed the face nearly as much 
as the gathering darkness made it indis- 
tinct. 

“Pardon ” he said, with a careless 

bow. “ I was not aware that any one was 
in the room — I am waiting to see the Coun- 
tess Falkenstein.” He then seated himself, 
and pushing aside some pamphlets and cards 
which lay on the table, took up a small book 
bound in red morocco leather, and closed 


2 

with a gold pencil-case, which Cyrilla kne' 
contained her sister’s manuscript poemi 
Seeing him deliberately open it, she extender 
her hand hastily, saying, “ Excuse me, I must 

beg to have that book ; it is it is not an 

Album.” 

“I know very well what it is,” he an 
swered, smiling, and for the first time looking 
at her with a sort of half-awakened curiosity. 
“ If I were not the most inattentive of listen- 
ers, I should by this time have known all 
Melanie’s poems by heart.” 

Placing the book on the table, he drew his 
chair closer to the causeuse , and attempted* to 
catch a furtive glimpse of her face without 
being rude ; but Cyrilla now purposely turned 
her head away. She knew from the words 
“Melanie’s Poems,” that her cousin Rupert 
was beside her ; and, although not offended 
at the indifference which he had so evidently 
manifested about her, a slight feeling of mor- 
tification, which she found it impossible to 
repress, made her resolve not to be the first 
to claim relationship. 

“Then you have read the contents of this 
little book ? ” he continued. 

“Yes.” 

“Are an intimate friend of my cousin Me- 
lanie’s, perhaps ? ” 

“Yes.” 

A pause ensued, and the silence in the room 
was broken by an ill-fastened window-blind 
of painted canvass descending spontaneously 
— at first slowly, but ending with a jerk — 
covering one of the windows, and excluding 
so much of the little remaining light that 
they could merely distinguish each other’s 
figures. Cyrilla’s first inclination was to 
leave the room, her next to indulge in a gay 
laugh. She yielded to the latter without re- 
straint, and before it had ceased, her cousin 
suddenly started up, exclaiming, “Can you 
forgive me for not recognising you ? The 
darkness — the impossibility of seeing your 
features — the — the — surprise at so unexpect- 
ed a meeting Have you been long here! 

When did you return from Italy ? ” 

“Some months ago.” 

“ Indeed ! I thought you had onty just ar- 
rived. Have you been staying at Exfort ? ” 

“No, but I am going there now.” 

“Your mother told me ” 

“ My mother ! ” repeated Cyrilla, in aston- 
ishment. 

“Perhaps I am mistaken ; it may have 
been your sister ” 

“Y'ou must be doubly mistaken, for my 
sister determined not to tell you anything 
about me. Y'ou seemed to feel so little in- 
terest when she spoke of me ” 

“You surely would not wish me to let her 
know the deep interest I must always feel in 
every thing that concerns you.” 

“ And why not ? It is surely very natural.” 

“Oh, un — doubtedly but she is, 

we must hope, unacquainted with a You 

know what I mean.” 

“Indeed I do not in the least.” 

“Well, but you may easily suppose that I 
could not speak to her as I would to your 
mother, so I — pretended an indifference 1 
was far from feeling.” 


u 


C i'RILLA. 


“You pretended indifference! Th« feint 
was little creditable to you, Rupert.” 

“Excuse me. I think otherwise; it was 
for your sake, not mine, and I expected praise 
instead of blame.” 

. “I don’t comprehend We don’t 

understand each other at all, it seems 

You are not in the least what I expected you 
to be ” said Cyrilla, leaning back with a ges- 
ture of annoyance. 

“ Provoking creature ! ” exclaimed Rupert, 
starting from his chnii* and beginning to walk 
up and down the room. Cyrilla, to whom 
his words and conduct every moment became 
more inexplicable, rose also and moved to- 
wards the door. “Stay, stay,” he cried eager- 
ly, placing himself before her. “ Do not let 
us part in anger — rather let me take advan- 
tage of this opportunity to explain anything 
which may have offended you in my letter. 
It was your mother who insisted on my writ- 
ing. Slie dictated every word — would not 
let me change a single hard expression — said 
that nothing else would ever induce you to 

give up the idea of Pshaw ! you 

must understand me now ! ” , 

“ Less than ever,” said Cyrilla, quietly. “ I 
never received arty letter from you, and could 
almost imagine you were talking to some one 
else, if your words did not remind me of both 
my mother’s and sister’s avoidance of your 
name — their determination never to speak of 
you. What }'ou have done to offend them I 
Know not ; for my own part I hoped to have 
renewed the unrestrained intercourse of.. ..” 

“ Hah ! ” exclaimed Rupert, retiring quick- 
ly a few steps from her. 

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Cyrilla, with a 
slight degree of irony in her voice; “I was 
merely going to observe that with me at 
least you might be intimate and unreserved, 
without the horrors of matrimony in per- 
spective.” 

“ True-— very true,” said Rupert, thought- 
fully. “ If you really can forgive my not re- 
turning your I mean a if, in short, 

you will be satisfied with friendship, why 
let us be friends, though — fate lias de- 
creed that we should never be more nearly 
connected.” 

“Your manner is odd, almost ungracious,” 
said Cyrilla ; “but I suppose I must take you 
as you are, and try to forget my disappoint- 
ment at finding you exactly the contrary of 
all I had hoped. 1 accept, then, the unfriend- 
ly offer of friendship you liaye made me, and 
assure you,” she added, half laughing, “that 
I have no designs whatever either on your 
heart or fortune.” She held out her hand as 
she spoke. 

He seized it with a sort of vehemence, ex- 
claiming, “Oh, Virginie, Virginia, 1 don’t 
know yet whether you are a — devil or an 
angel, but,” lie added in a whisper, “ don’t 
leadune into temptation any more, for ” 

“Are you mad?” cried Cyrilla, forcibly 
withdrawing her hand from his. ‘ What 
paltry affectation is this — pretending to for- 
get my very name! ” 

“Ao, I don’t forget it,” said Rupert, “ neither 
what it was, nor will 1 forget what it is, if I 
can help it.” 


“There is — tnere must be some strange 
confusion here,’' said Cyrilla, slowly; “Ru- 
pert, do you know who I am ? ” 

“I should think so,” he answered with a 
short laugh. 

“Then why do you call me VirginieJ ” 

“ 1 beg your pardon,” he said, bowing iron 
ically, “I should perhapiTliave said Madame 
la Yicomtesse, and have hoped that M. le 
Yicomte se portait bien t ” 

“Ah,” cried Cyrilla, “now 1 perceive that 
you have taken me for some other person* and 
I am gLd of it, very glad that all your odd 
speeches were intended for a Virginie some- 
body and not for your cousin Cyrilla Adler 
kron.” 

Fortunately for Rupert, who stood petrified 
i with amazement, the door at this moment 
opened and Melanie entered. 

“ Why, Cyrilla, is it possible that you are 
still here ? ” she exclaimed, “the carriage will 
be at the door in ten minutes, and you will 
not be dressed. Rupert, I am glad to see 
you, — that is, I cannot see you at all ; but 1 
am happy that you have found your way 
here at last. I thought I should have been 
obliged to introduce you to Cyrilla, but it 
seems you have become Acquainted w ithout 
my assistance.” 

“Yes,” said Cyrilla, “we have commenced 
our acquaintance oddly enough, and the im- 
pression made on me has not been altogether 
satisfactory.” 

“The infernal darkness of the room, the 
extraordinary resemblance of both voice and 
laugh,” muttered Rupert. " . 

“After all it was but a mistake,” said' Cy- 
rilla, gaily; “let us forget it and be friends, 
though, as you so heroically observed, fait 
has decreed that we should never be more nearly 
connected .” 

“You cannot easily be more nearly con- 
nected than you are,” said Melanie, wdio had 
been too much occupied ordering lamps to 
have heard more than the last words; “the 
relationship is so near, that I have no doubt 
Rupert w r iil prseume upon it, and* pay you 
all sorts of attention, — that is, when he lias 
nothing else to do, or does not happen tc 
be particularly engaged with half-a-dozen 
others, lie does not think it necessary,” she 
added pointedly, “ under any other circum- 
stances to be attentive to bis cousins .” 

“Judge of me for yourself, Cyrilla,” said 
Rupert, “ and do not let this unlucky begin- 
ning prejudice you against me, — the more so, 
as 1 can never explain or excuse n^’self in 
any w r ay to you.” 

“Pray, Cyrilla, go and dress,” cried Mela 
nie, a little impatiently; “we dare not be 
late on such an occasion, — you can talk non* 
sense with Rupert some other time.” 

“Wait a moment and let me look at you,” 
said Rupert, eagerly. 

“Iso; but you may waft until I return jf 
you choose,” she answered carelessly. 

He stood with his arms folded, looking after 
her as she walked quickly down the passage, 
along which candles and lamps were being 
carried in all directions, when, obliged to 
move aside to admit the bearers of lights into 
the room, he turned to Melar ie and observed 


CYRIL L A. 


25 


Yoi might have let me know that Cyrilla 
was here.” 

“You did not choose to listen to me when 
I spoke of tier to you before I went to Salz- 
burg,” she replied with affected indifference, 
as she turned to the light and began to ar- 
range her bracelets. 

Rupert bit his lip, and then asked abruptly, 

** Is she handsome ? ” 

“ No, not exactly.” 

“ Merely good-looking, perhaps ? ” 

Melanie twirled her bracelets as she an- 
swered, “She is not as handsome as I am — - 
was, I ought to say.” 

“Oh,” said Rupert, smiling, “that is not 
necessary. She might be very handsome 
without bearing a comparison with you ! ” 

“I suppose you mean to say something 
flattering, Rupert, but you have misunder- 
stood me. Cyrilla is not at all what is called 
handsome.” 

“I thought as much,” said Rupert; “so 
after all she is a rosy-cheeked fair-haired 
girl, such as one sees by dozens all over the 
world.” 

“ You will not easily find a dozen Cyrillas,” 
Piyid Melanie ; “ Wilhelm says she only wants 
a pair of wings to make her an angel.” 

“The President said so! Then she must, 
after all, be something very uncommon.” 

“Only wait until you hear her sing.” 

“0, 1 am prepared for all sorts of accom- 
plishments,” cried Rupert, laughing; “ I have 
heard enough of my aunt Sophy’s system of 
education to expect wonders.” 

“And yet,” said Melanie* “$11 the instruc- 
tion in the world, without natural talent, is* 
of little use. Even the short time .1 was in 
Salzburg enabled me to discover that the 
sam6 pains, and the same instruction be- 
stowed on different characters and capabil- 
ities, {)roduce quite different results. Fer- 
nanda possesses acquirements — Cyrilla ac- 
complishments.” 

'“A nice distinction,” observed Rupert; 
“but I should have required more than one 
(lay fo make the- discovery.” 

“And yet it was evident enough,” rejoined 
Melanie, “ though among the crowd of people 
collected at my aunt’s, the evening 1 was 
there, I doubt if one person among them was 
aware of. the difference, — in fact, the most of 
the company seemed to think the astonishing 
rapidity with which Fernanda’s fingers flew 
from one end of the pianoforte to the other 
much more admirable than Cyrilla’s faultless 
performance of a ‘song without words;’ and 
in vocal music, if they gave her the prefer- 
ence, it wa's because she sang our national 
melodies/ which the}' understood better than 
Italian.” 

“ Most probably she has a good natural 
voice,” said Rupert: “our uncle Carl might 
have been a primo tenore .” 

“Cyrilla’s voice scarcely seems to belong 
to this world,” said Melanie, enthusiastically ; 

“ and the manner in which she accompanies 
herself is quite indescribable, — so playful, so 
melancholy, and at times so deeply passion- 
ate.” 

“You are exciting m}^ curiosity,” said Ru- 
pert : “but I must make allowance for some j 
poeluyd license in the description.” 


“No,* said Melanie, seriously, “it is but 
truth ; and the more I learn to appreciate her 
accomplishments, the more I regret the 
youthful rebellion which deprived me of such* 
advantages in education.” - 

“ You have educated yourself after a very 
pleasant fashion,” said Rupert, “and I don’t 
think my aunt would ever have been able U 
have pedagogued you into being other than 
you are ; but you seem to like her better 
than you did when we last spoke of her, - 
what has caused the change? ” 

“ I fear,” sam Melanie, with a sigh, “ I 
greatly fear she is dying. You never saw 
such a spectre, and neither Fernanda nor Cy- 
rilla seem to perceive it, so gradual has 
most probably been the decay. I had not 
courage to contradict or even expostulate 
with her, although her * opinions on a very 
important subject, with regard to Cyrilla, are 
diametrically opposed to mine.” 

“Videlicet, marriage,” said Rupert: “so 
you have been informed of their plan ; but it 
will be very unlike you if you join them, and, 
moreover, perfectly useless, lean assure you.” 

“I know of no plan; but from what my 
aunt said I see she thinks that Cyrilla’s want 
of fortune ought to induce her to marry from 
motives of interest ; and she has not only in- 
culcated this principle, but in the most sys- 
tematic manner has repressed every inclina 
lion to more exalted sentiments, — has en- 
deavoured to banish every idea that is not 
absolutely saturated with worldly wisdom 
from the minds of both her daughters ! ” 

“ Y"ou don’t say feo ? ” cried Rupert with 
forced seriousness : “ actually saturated with 
worldly wisdom ; and you discovered all 
this in twenty-four hours! ” 

“My aunt,” said Melanie, “seemed to tiling 
it her duty to impress on my mind the ne- 
cessity of Cyrilla’s making a judicious mar- 
riage, — she talked of nothing else, .and I lis- 
tened to all she said on the subject in silence, 
but determined, even while she was speak- 
ing, that through me a new and ideal work! 
should be opened to my sister.” 

“ And so,” said Rupert, “ you are of course 
working as hard as you can at your favourite 
Jetin Paul ? ” * 

“We have begun to read his works to- 
gether; but the vein of poetical -humour 
which pervades everything he has written i9 
almost lost upon her. In the story of Sie- 
benkaes the parts 1 most admired made no 
impression ; and when 1 asked her yesterday 
what had pleased her most, she said it was 
the description of Siebenkaes sitting with 
his young wife in the evening intending to 
write, and desiring her to snuff the candle 
for him: sometimes she snuffed it too close, 
and sometimes she forgot to snuff it at all, 
and at length, instead of thinking of his wri- 
ting, he became altogether occupied with 
his wife and the snuffers ! ” 

“It is odd enough,” said Rupert, “but that 
little scene, on account of its extreme sim- 
plicity, made a lasting impression on mo 
too.” 

“Y r ou!” exclaimed Melanie; “but who 
ever expected anything else from you?. With 
your manner and appearance, no one would 
give you credit for half th? feeling wbVb 1 


2o 


CYRILLA 


know you to possess ; but that Cyrilla, with 
her angelic face and ethereal figure, should, 

* loy an absurd prejudice of her mother’s, be 
made absolutely commonplace and prosaical, 
is, I must say, provoking ! I expected a con- 
genial spirit, and find a light-hearted girl 
quite disposed to join Wilhelm in laughing 
at me.” 

“ I think, after all, I may like her,” said 
Rupert. 

“ Of course you will ; every one must like 
her. I quite idolize her already ; and am 
almost sure that, with much of her father’s 
indomitable gaiety, she has inherited his 
strong feelings also, and that there is a latent 
spark of romance in her nature which only 
requires time and judicious treatment to 
burst into flame ! ” 

41 Allow me,” said Rupert, “ to point out to 
you how much better it would be to leave 
Cyrilla as she is, free from all sorts of fires 
or flames. Now, don’t be offended,” he add- 
ed, as Melanie turned away from him with a 
gesture of annoyance ; “ don’t be offended, 
but listen to my entreaty that you will leave 
Cyrilla to work out her own scheme of hap- 
piness without any interference on your 
part ; and above all things let her be natu- 
ral, for though you are very charming as an 
original, a copy, especially if it were a juve- 
nile one, and without your fund of informa- 
tion to draw upon, would be the ne plus 
ultra of absurdity.” 

“ There is much more danger of Cyrilla’s 
being unhappy than absurd,” said Melanie. 
‘Fancy such a creature as she is married to 
a man who cannot or will not participate in 
the joys and sorrows that chequer this life — 
who is not capable of understanding what 
love, pure ideal love is, no, not even by 
name — who ” 

“ Halt ! ” cried Rupert, taking up his sabre 
and beginning to buckle it on with affected 
haste; “if you have got on the subject of 
ideal love, we had better end our conversa* 
tion. But before I go, I really must beg of 
you either to spare Cyrilla the description 
of your ideal love, or to tell her honestly 
that, though you talked in the same way 
twelve years ago, and sentimentalized with 
my poor tutor Englmann until his sorrows 
were little inferior to those of Werther, you 
actually afterwards in his very presence be- 
stowed your fair hand on his Excellency 
Count Falkeustein. Let her at least know 
that one can talk in this way and act in an- 
other.” 

“Rupert, you are unkind to speak so 
lightly of my first, my only love — the morn- 
ing-star of my existence, which, however the 
glare of day may diminish in lustre, still, be- 
lieve me, moves along the firmament of my 
memory, and becomes visible in all the darker 
moments of my life ! ” 

Rupert coughed slightly and coveiud his 
mouth to conceal a smile : he always did so 
when he either knew or suspected his cousin 
of adapting the poetical ideas of others to 
her own use. Shfe understood what he 
meant, and continued more rationally : 
“ Heaven knows I would have married Val- 
entine Englmann if we had had enough be- 


tween us to supply the common necessaries 
of life ; but you must remember that I was 
portionless, and ” 

“ My dear Melanie, do not for a moment 
suppose that I blame you ; you acted wisely 
in every sense of the word. Englmann 
would have been miserable, and you still 
more so.” 

“ No, Rupert, no. Never were two beings 
more congenial in mind, never was love 
based more truly on sentiment and a myste- 
rious combination of spirits.” 

“ Very Platonic,” said Rupert, making an 
odd grimace ; “ but I would rather not hear 
you talk about that.” 

“ And why not ? Do not the Swedenbor 
gians say that the spirit in another world 
meeting a congenial spirit can unite itself 
and ” 

“ Never mind what they say,” cried Ru 
pert, interrupting her. “It was in this 
world, twelve years ago, that you Wished to 
unite yourself to a very good-looking and 
talented young man, but he being poor and 
ignoble you were not allowed to do so — for 
tunately for him and for yourself ; for what 
sort of a parson’s wife would you have made 
after all, Melanie? Only imagine yourself 
now at Windhorst with half-a-dozen obstrep- 
erous children ! ” 

“I should have liked to have had chn 
dren,” said Melanie, sighing. 

“Yes, little counts and countesses, per- 
haps, with plenty of French bonnes, and nur- 
serymaids to £ake care of them, but not a 
pack of turbulent boys who must be washed 
and dressed with your own hands every 
morning. Instead of your rose-coloured bou- 
doir, fancy the well-scoured parlour that 
would be your sitting-room, with no possible 
escape from these children, who, though 
very well behaved, all things considered, 
still, like all such animals, scream, shout, 
quarrel, ride on sticks, upset the furniture, 
blow their noses awry ” 

“You describe so graphical^, Rupert,” 
cried Melanie, laughing, “ that one would 
almost imagine you had experienced all this.” 

“ So I have ; but you know I rather like 
noise, and am very fond of children. When- 
ever I am at Windhorst, the whole Englmann 
family come to me, and you have no idea 
how gay they make the old place, or how 
they enjoy themselves, chasing each .other 
through the large rooms and passages. 1 
have more children than dogs with me when 
I go out to walk, and am not half as much 
discomposed as their father when they grow 
troublesome or tired. You never saw a fel- 
low so put out as Englmann when he has 
been obliged to carry home a child ! ” 

“A man of such exalted and refined ideas 
... ” began Melanie. 

“Ah, ban! when a mat- marries and has 
six children, he should not mind carrying 
one of them occasionally; but, with the 
exception of a little remnant of over-refine- 
ment, he is the pleasantest companion pas 
sible.” 

“I heard,” said Melanie, “that you had im 
proved his house, and assisted him ir vario it 
ways.” 

‘ ■ 


CYRILLA. 


V\ 


“ I believe the beet way to assist him is 
trough his children,” 6aid Rupert; “ so I 
have sent his eldest boy to school.” 

“O, Rupert, how kind of you! How I 
wish I could do something for him — I mean 
for them.” 

“You can,” said Rupert, “and you can 
oblige me at the same time, if you will find 
out all about the different girls’ schools at 
Strasburg. Englmann’s wife has consented 
to part with her eldest daughter also; so, 
next autumn, after you have made the neces- 
sary inquiries about religion, and morals, and 
all the other things, we can send her off too. 
I was laughed at enough concerning my god- 
son Rupert ; but if I were to begin again with 
Rupertina, as they have barbarously chris- 
tened her, there would be no end to the joke.” 

d You may depend on my writing to Ma- 
dame Joubert to-morrow,” said Melanie. “ Y ou 
know she has now the management of the 
.school at which I passed eight years of my 

life But do you know I should like to 

follow your example, and do something for 
these children, if you think it would not be 

disagreeable to him I might adopt one 

of them— I wonder I never thought of that 
before ! Wilhelm would have no objection, 
I am sure tell me, are any of the young- 

er ones pretty or interesting looking, like 
, their father ? ” 

“ They arfe all strong healthy children, but 
[ cannot recollect that any of them can justly 
make pretensions to beauty. Fritz is well 
enough, but you would think his eyes too 
small, and his mouth too large.” 

“ Oh, I don’t like boys at all — I meant one 
of the girls.” 

“ There is but one other girl, little Tony ; 
she is not in the least pretty, but the merri- 
est, oddest little thing you ever saw. The 
best plan would be for you to go with me to 
Windhorst for a day or two, and judge for 
yourself.' You have not seen Englmann for 
twelve years ; a meeting might be very con- 
ducive to your happiness.” 

“No, Rupert, it would be a renewal of 
grief.” 

“I am quite convinced, Melanie, that see- 
ing him as he now is, the hard-working father 
of six children, w T ith a voluminous white 
cravat instead of an open shirt collar, — a very 
long-tailed coat instead of the picturesque 
velvet garment of his student days, — a 
well-shaved patient-looking face instead of 
the mustachioed demi-poetical countenance 
which I can still dimly remember, would de- 
prive your recollections of so much of their 
romance that you would be a happier woman 
during the rest of your life.” 

“ 0, Rupert, I would not see him so for all 
the world — would not destroy my ideal of all 
that is noble, poetical, beautiful! 0, why 
have you dimmed the light that so brightly 
illumined my early days, and even by reflec- 
tion chased the shadows of the present ! ” 

“ Because I want to chase away these ima- 
ginary shadows ; and I think the patient face 
and long-tailed coat will greatly assist me.” 

“ But why did you say that he wore a 
- long-tailed coat ? ” asked Melanie, reproach- 

folly. 


“Because he does — just think of him al 
ways as I have now described him, and th« 
President will rise enormously in your esti- 
mation.” 

“The President — Wilhelm — I had almost 
forgotten. This is the anniversary of oui 
wedding-day, and I wrote some verses to re- 
mind him of it ; he must have found them 
on the table when he returned from his 
walk.” 

She moved towards a door leading into an 
adjoining room and softly opened it. The Pre- 
sident was seated at a table covered with 
papers, pamphlets, and writing materials 
the concentrated light of a shaded lamp fel 
on a number of business-like letters, and h< 
was so engaged shoving them into their en 
velopes, that he did not hear his wife’s ste] 
as she approached him. He was a tall, pale 
complexioned, strongly-built man, his head 
large in its proportions, was but sparingly 
covered with silver-grey hair, which did not 
conceal any part of his nigh intellectual fore- 
head ; beneath his thick and still dark eye- 
brows were clear light grey eyes, the usual 
expression of which denoted the earnestness 
of deep thought, not un frequently verging cu 
severity ; his nose, large and inclining to 
aquiline, suited well his firmly closing mouth 
and square- formed chin ; his manners were 
decided, almost haughty ; his voice, deep and 
sonorous, w’as seldom heard in light dis- 
course ; he was a man more calculated to in- 
spire respect, perhaps fear, than love, and 
such had been the case. There was a pain- 1 
ful degree of uncertainty, almost diffidence, in 
Melanie’s manner as she approached him, and 
whispered rather than said, “Wilhelm, did 
you not find — something— On your table ? ” 

“A pink-papered perfumed piece of po- 
etry ! ” he answered, taking up a pen and 
beginning to write the addresses of his let- 
ters. “ The fact is, Melanie, I have had such 
a multiplicity of affairs, that I have not had 
time to read it.” 

She stretched out her arm with a look of 
deep mortification to regain possession of the 
lines, which she felt were disparaged by his 
alliteration ; but he laid his hand on hers, 
saying, “Don’t be offended, it shall be read 
the moment I have despatched these letters 
to the minister; this is my last night here 
you know, and everything must be in order 
before I leave this table. X realty’ should be 
obliged if you would read it for me, or tell 
me the contents while I seal these papers ; ” 
and he lit a taper and began to drop the 
melting wax, as she turned away, saying, — 

“0, it was merely to remind you that this 
was the anniversary of our wedding-day ; it 
is of no consequence ! ” 

He first pressed his massive seal firmly on 
the wax, and then turning suddenly round, 
exclaimed, “ But it is of great consequence ; 
why did you not tell me before I went out 
tc walk— I could then have gone to*a jewel- 
lei s, and bought you some trinket.” 

Melanie coloured violently, and turning to 
Rupert, who stood in the doorway, she said, 
in a voice trembling from vexation, “Such 
are my trials, Rupert ; you may laugh at 
them, but — they are very hard to be born« 


IS 


0 Y R I L L A. 


by any ene whose feelings are not quite j predate the rounded cheek, the full lip, the 
blunted.” j eye of which the white is almost blue — the 

‘‘Now, don’t be absurd, Melanie,” said innumerable charms of extreme youth: Me* 
Count Falkenstein x holding out bis hand ; “ I j lanie’s tall full figure, brilliant eye*, and 


never could make speeches such as you like 
to hear, but I. am happy to be able to say, 
that, all things considered, we have worked 
on very well together these twelve years, 
and I trust much rational happiness is still in 
store for us. Next time, take care to let me 

know the day before, that ” 

“That you may buy me some trinket,” she 
said, interrupting him. 

“ I meant to say brooches and bracelets — 
you are fond of such things I know.” 

“Believe me that, so bestowed, they have 

as little value for me as 

perfumed poetry for y T ou ! ” 

“Severe, but just,” said the President, half 
laughing. “Now, Melanie, don’t be vexed — 
see, I am going to do a little sentiment for 


pink-papered 


marked regular features, were to him more 
i interesting; and be would perhaps have ap- 
; preached her if he had not suspected, from 
i the wondering faces of those around her, that 
| she was talking cither of animal ‘magnetism 
| or ghosts, two subjects which lie particularly 
| disliked. Again lie looked at Cyrilla, but 
i she had turned away her head; and after a 
moment's indecision, lie walked slowly, al- 
most cautiously, away, as if lie feared his 
; cousin might see him and claim bis attention, 
i “ For, of course,” lie thought, “ she has got 
i all possible instructions from her mother and 
! aunt how to catcli aud hold me fast.” 

:\dler- 

ptaiii Stauffen, one of the offi- 
cers of his regiment; “surely you will wait 


Y» V.CULU auu llic Idol. 

“You don’t mean to leave so early, A 
kron,” cried Captain Stauffen, one of tin 


you ; until such time as my letters are sealed i to hear your cousin sing : ff she can do so 
and despatched (for business must ever go j half as well as she can talk, it is well worth 
before pleasure), your lines shall remain here i your while " 


— in my waistcoat pocket — -just oyer ray 
heart you see — could any reasonable woman 
desire more.?” 

Melanie half smiled. 

“Where are you going this evening?” he 
nskcu, evidently trying to appeal* interested 
about her plans , but he continued writing 
while he added, “That yellow satin petticoat 
is perfectly dazzling, and you look uncom- 
monly handsome ! ” 

“ Cyrilla is to be presented to the Crown 
Princess,” answered Melanie, walking towards 
a pier glass in order to remove carefully the 
tears which had gathered in her eyes. A 
bronze clock commenced striking the hour, 
the carriage was announced, and a moment 
after Cyrilla appeared. Rupert sprang to- 
wards her, but accustomed to punctuality in 
time, she only glanced towards her sister, and 
then hurried down the. stairs. As he followed 
with Melanie, he asked where he should be 
likely T to meet them in the course of the even- 
ing. “We are going to the theatre, and 
afterwards to the Polinskys.” 

’ “Au rrvoir , then,” cried Rupert gaily; “if 
I have time I shall be sure to see you again.” 

The few hours, however, which intervened 
sufficed to renew all his distrust, and increase 
his repugnance to a nearer acquaintance with 
bis cousin Cyrilla; so, though curiosity in- 
duced him even at a late hour to follow her 
to the Polinskys, be stationed himself silently 
near the door of the room in which she Was 
sitting, 'and contemplated her at what he con- 
jidered a safe distance. He saw a fair, a very j 
fair girl, youthful-looking to a degree that \ 
made the calm nonchalance of her manner 
remarkal -le, as she leaned back in a large low 
crimson chair, quite surrounded by men of 
various ages, and apparently able to amuse 
or interest them all. Rupert mistook the 
?ase of habit for coquetry, and muttered, 
‘Tins is another accomplishment, I suppose; 
and she has got the start of Melanie here too, 
without being half as handsome. How could 
my aunt imagine I should fall in love with 
that baby face 1 ” 

Rupert was himself still too young to ap- 


“Show yourself, at least,” said Lieutenant 
Klemmhaiu, taking him by the arm; “be- 
come visible to the Polinskys, if only for a 
moment, as I heard the Countess Falkenstein 
say that her sister must not sing until you 
had made your appearance.” 

“ Indeed ! Then,” said Rupert with a looj-; 
of intense annoyance, “ you rrtay go to hei 
now, and tell her that I have just recollected 
a most important engagement, which unfor- 
tunately 7 will prevent me from hearing my 
cousin just now, but that in a few weeks I 
hope to see them both at Exfort.” 

Rupert stood in the street — his carriage 
was gone, and The cold half-thawed snow 
penetrated the soles and sides of his thin 
boots : he stopped and deliberated whether 
or not he should return ; “No, lie would not. 
After all, Melanie did know, or at least sus- 
pect the plot against him ; it showed great 
want of tact her saying that Cyrilla must 
wait until he came — his aunts would hud her 


but a bungling matchmaker- 


as to Cy- 


ril la, the sooner her hopes were crushed the 
better ; it was his duty to be decided on this 
occasion.” 

And he strode down the street, splashing 
through the wet snow, alike unheedful of it 
or of the “ still small voice ” that whispered 
he was not acting with his usual kindness o 
consideration for the feelings of others. 


CHAPTER YII I. 

Exfort is one of those ancient towns so nume- 
rous' in Germany, which, from having occu- 
pied a distinguished place in the early history 7 
of the country 7 , and been deemed worthy ctf 
fortification in the middle ages, has had to en- 
dure all the vicissitudes of the endless wars 
of those times. Besieged, pillaged, burnt, it 
had ever risen, phoenix-like, out of its ashes, 
and even the last conflagration, ami having 
been twice sacked by the French at. a later 
period, had failed to deprive it of the appear- 
ance of a large, populous, and thriving town.. 


OYRI 

ti Lugk the distance from the coast, and want 
of a navigable river or extensive commerce, 
would cause many an Englishman to doubt 
the fact. The town had, at the conclusion of 
the last war, been greatly enlivened, in the j 
opinion of its inhabitants, by the old resi- 
dences of various historically celebrated Mar- 
grafs and Gau-grafs having been converted 
into barracks for a numerous and jovial gar- 
rison, and also considerably elevated in rank, 
when it became the seat of a provincial go- 
vernment, with its respectable representatives 
of civil power, in the persons of assessors, 
councillors of different classes, &c., Ac., Ac., 
and a President ! 

The President, Count Falkenstein, resided 
in the Government house, which was the lar- 
gest and handsomest in the town, occupying 
the whole side of a square called the Platz, 
and, though the lower part of the building 
was altogether appropriated to the different 
offices of the persons ' employed under him, 
tho second story, with its long suite of recep- 
tion rooms, had been reserved altogether for 
his use, or rather for his wife’s, who there, on 
stated evenings, received, sometimes a select, 
.sometimes a promiscuous society. 

Placed by station and fortune in the first 
rank, Melanie affected to laugh at and de- 
spise all social distinctions ; she said, and 
tried to believe, that talent and education 
alone could raise man above his fellows ; but 
she never was known to transgress any of 
the self-imposed laws which distinguished 
her class. She spoke French, or demi-French, 
almost invariably when in company, tutoied 
and called familiarly by their Christian names 
every member of her own coterie , while she 
was unnecessarily and ostentatiously polite 
to the less fashion-favoured members of her 
little world. She aspired in a lady-like sort 
of way to literary celebrity, and on first 
coming to Exfort had entertained the idea of 
combining learning and fashion, and alto- 
gether changing the tastes and pursuits of 
the greater number of her acquaintances. 
Some years had elapsed since the time of the 
“ three experiments,” as she herself laughingly 
called the three soirdes in which she had hoped 
to commence a new era in the Exfort world. 
To this end, she had signified her intention 
of giving reading parties, and had induced 
men of learning ana talent to write and read 
aloud essays on subjects which she judged 
most appropriate, and likely to arouse the 
curiosity or engage the attention of her ex- 
pected audience. The first night her rooms 
were crowded to suffocation, but the com- 
pany were manifestly soon weary, and openly 
showed that they preferred whispering to 
each other. Some ridiculed what they had 
heard, others were honest enough to confess 
that they had not understood what it was all 
about ; out a still greater number declared 
that it was intolerably dull work, and if they 
had not been ashamed, they would have 
gone home at the end of the first half-hour ; 
<nd this sort of shame induced many to ap- 
pear at the second soiree, but the third was 
literally without guests. Melanie’s hopes of 
being the leader of an intellectual society 
evaporated, and she henceforward followed 


LLA. 2$ 

the example of others, giving two 01 three 
large balls during the winter, and receiving 
those who had general invitations to her 
house twice-a-week in spring and autumn. 

At the end of the long suite of reception 
rooms was one chosen for constant habitation* 
because it adjoined the private office of Count 
Falkenstein. He reserved for himself tlio 
privilege of locking the double doors be- 
tween them when he did not choose to be 
interrupted in writing, or of opening them 
when he either wished for society or desired 
to lengthen his space for walking. The day 
after Cyrilla’s arri » r al, as she was sitting in 
this room with her sister, waiting for the an- 
nouncement of dinner, she heard . the Presi- 
dent speaking with unusual animation to 
some one who had entered just as the doors 
of communication had been opened. Melanie 
instantly rose and joined them, and Cyrilla 
soon after distinguished the low tones of an 
unknown voice inquiring for her cousin Ru- 
pert, and asking if he did not mean to come 
soon to Exfort about the purchase of Frei- 
lands. 

“ I really do not know what his intentions 
are,” replied Melanie in rather an offended 
tone ; “ his conduct was altogether so odd, 
so inexplicable, that even if I bad had an op- 
portunity of asking him, I do not think I 
should have done so.” 

“I heard you talking to him for a goo' 
half-hour,” said the President ; “ but,” he add 
ed ironically, “ I suppose he forgot to ask 
about the new work which is now in manu- 
script.” 

“ It was not to me he was so — so uncivil, I 
may say; it was his neglect of Cyrilla that 
annoyed me. He saw her for five minutes 
before she went out the last evening we were 
in Berlin, — promised to follow us to the 
Polinskys, but when there, never even took 
the trouble of entering the room we were in ; 
and ended by sending a young officer of his 
regiment to tell me that he had some engage- 
ment which would prevent him from hearing 
her sing 1 I naturally thought he would 
have excused himself the next morning be- 
fore we left, but he never appeared.” 

“We left very early,” suggested the Presi- 
dent 

“That,” said the unknown voice, “is no 
excuse for Adlerkron. You know he is one 
of those men who do not know how to enjoy 
either their position in the world or their 
wealth ; he is, and always was, an earlier 
riser than most of those unfortunate beings, 
who, like me, are doomed to earn their daily 
bread.” 

“ I think, Edouard,” said the President, 
“ that in his place you would have been, 
equally energetic. I am convinced that, 
under any circumstances, you would be an 
ambitious and studious man.” 

“Studious.! yes-^-perhaps — but with Ad- 
lerkron’s fortune I should certainly lead a 
very different life from his.” 

“ As to his life,” said Melanie, “it is, I am 
told, blameless; and though I feel a little 
angry with him just now on account of Cy- 
rilla, I must say I have seldom met a mors 
generous or good-natured being.” 




r x S \ 

tQ 0 YRILLA 


M 0, only too good-natured," said the same 
voice. “ If I were in his place, the officers 
of my regiment should not ride my horses 
without asking my leave ; nor should they 
have free quarters at Windhorst. I consider 
that $ort of good-nature weakness.” 

“He is extremely popular,” began Me- 
lanie. 

“ He is considered a good-natured fellow, 
and perhaps that is the height of his am- 
bition, but it is not mine.” 

“And what is your ambition? ” asked Me : 
lanie. 

“ Nothing less than to be finance minister 
some twenty years hence ! ” 

“You are right, Edouard,” cried the Presi- 
dent; “if circumstances favour your views, 
I know no one whose talents would more fit 
them for the office.” 

“In the meantime,” said Melanie, walking 
into the drawing-room, “ let me introduce 
you to my sister. Cyrilla, this is our nephew, 
Count Zorndorff.” 

He was a young and uncommonly hand- 
some man ; the extreme paleness of his fea- 
tures rendered still more remarkable by his 
jet black hair and large dark eyes ; his man- 
ners were quiet, his voice low, and peculiarly 
agreeable. Though perfectly well dressed, 
there was an evident carelessness in the 
minutiae of his toilet which most people 
thought and said proceeded from the con- 
sciousness that his personal advantages per- 
mitted negligence. Those who so judged 
were in «*rror. Few, none perhaps, under- 
stood his character at all, for few or none 
ever study the characters of those with 
whom they are not obliged to live ; and 
many, very many, pass through this world 
without ever having studied any character 
at all, merely taking people as they find 
them, and feeling a sort of vague surprise 
when others act differently from what they 
would have done in their places. These are 
like children turning over the leaves of a 
book of prints, under which the explanations 
are written in a language unknown to them. 
The representations of scenes of domestic life 
they can understand, though even there much 
is passed over unnoticed; but should the 
picture present anything new or uncommon, 
after having looked at it for a short time 
with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, they 
turn over the leaf, unconscious of the fund 
of deep interest, or subject of profound 
thought, which they have lost. The study 
of character may be compared to the acquire- 
ment of a new science or language ; the more 
cultivated the mind, the less felt are the first 
difficulties ; and these once overcome, a world 
of hitherto unknown ideas come crowding on 
us, or intellectual treasures are within our 
reach which may afford us occupation and 
enjoyment fo* the rest of our lives. This 
digression is not intended as a prelude to a 
dissection of Count ZorndorfFs head or heart: 
like Cyrilla, we will see him as he chose to 
appear to her, and that was, cold and in- 
different. He talked politics without inter- 
.« i*on during dinner, retired afterwards 
wuh the President to his study ; and when 
he again appeared in the drawing-room, he 


addressed all his conversation in a lalf-whi* 
per to Melanie. 

The President requested Cyrilla to sing 
and while he leaned back in his chair, ai 
expression of perfect satisfaction stealing over 
his stern features, Count Zorndorff ceased 
speaking, but, bending over a book, appear- 
ed altogether unconscious of all that was 
going on about him. As the clock struck 
ten, he rose, nodded a good-night to his 
uncle, murmured a few words to his aunt, 
and, slightly bowing to Cyrilla, left the 
room. 

“ Well,” cried Melanie, turning with a look 
of half-suppressed triumph to" her sister : 

“ well, Cyrilla, what do you think of him ? ” 

“You mean Count Zorndorff? I hardly 
know — I spoke so little to him — he seems 
gentlemanlike.” 

fc My dear creature, are you blind ? He is 
probably the handsomest man you ever saw 
in your life ! ” 

“ Very likely ; but I did not observe him 
attentively.” 

The President looked up and smiled. “ Ed 
ouard has for once made no impression,” he 
said quietly; “Cyrilla is too rational to 
waste admiration on a head, without know- 
ing what sort of brain may be in it. I be- 
lieve it is Plato who says ‘ mind alone is 
beautiful.’ ” 

“ He meant, that the appreciation of beauty 
depends upon the mind,” said Melanie ; “ and 
the more intellect we have the strong- 
er our imagination may be so much 

the more intense is the perception of the 
beautiful ? I must say, Cyrilla, I never saw 
any one so devoid of feeling for beauty as 
you are ! ” 

“J think on the present occasion it is a 
most fortunate circumstance,” said Count 
Falkenstein.” 

“ I cannot agree with you, Wilhelm ; it is 
a loss of incalculable pleasure a person not 
having a perception of what is beautiful, be 
the object picture, statue, man, or woman.'’ 

“ Hum ,” said Count Falkenstein, 

rubbing his chin. “ The perception of a wo- 
man’s beauty is sometimes necessary to make 
a man overlook her foibles.” 

Melanie moved in silent dignity towards a 
marble table, on which three small antique 
silver candlesticks were placed, and began tc 
occupy herself in lighting the candles they 
held. 

“ I think,” said Cyrilla, apologetically, “ in 
deed I am almost sure I should have observ 
ed Count Zorndorff more had he spoken to 
me, or had he appeared to like music.” 

“Edouard loses ‘incalculable p* >asure’ by 
having no ear for music,” said Count Falken- 
stein. 

“ He has no dislike to vocal music,” cried 
Melanie, eagerly ; “ no dislike whatever when 
he can hear the words distinctly.” 

“That is,” said the Count, “he has no ob- 
jections to receiving a poetical idea even 
through the medium of song ! ” 

“ I think, Wilhelm, it is extremely injudi- 
cious your endeavouring to prejudice Cyrilla 
against a person with whom she must associ 
ate so constantly.” 


Q IT R ILL A. 


81 


44 Ami T think, Melanh, it is still more in- 
judicious your endeavouring to prepossess her 
in favour of a person who is .... is a .... is 
decidedly the worst parti in Export.” 

Oyrilla laughed. “To relieve both your 
minds,” she said, “ let me assure you that I 
am neither prejudiced nor prepossessed, nor,” 
she added with a slight blush, “ nor have I 
come to Exfort to look for a parti.” 

“Well,” said the President, “all I have to 
say is, that I hope you have made as little 
impression on my nephew as he seems to 
have made on you. It is a fortunate circum- 
stance for him that his heart is not as vul- 
nerable through his ears as mine.” 

“You need have no apprehensions on Ed- 
ouard’s account,” observed Melanie, “for, 
however Cyrilla’s appearance might attract 
him, she is not in other respects at all suited 
to him. I have seldom seen two people so 
different in disposition.” 

“ So much the better,” rejoined Count Falk- 
en3tein, “ so much the better ; but you see 
sometimes people like those who are pre- 
cisely the contrary of what they are them- 
selves — I give myself as an example. Can 
any two people in the world be more unlike 
than we are ? ” 

“ I flatter myself that it is not possible,” 
answered Melanie as she left the room. 

Cyril la stopped at her sister’s door for a 
moment and said, “I should like to know 
why you never mentioned Count Zorndorff’s 
name to me. I had no idea that you had a 
nephew here.” 

“ He has not been long in Exfort,” answer- 
ed Melanie evasively, “only since he became 
Kammer Assessor. Our other nephews, the 
Falkensteins, are not to be compared to him ; 
but they will nevertheless inherit all we 
possess, while poor Edouard must work his 
way on in the world as he best can. It is 
this which makes him so melancholy — so dis- 
contented — at times almost a misanthrope.” 

“ But,” said Cyrilla, “how many men in 
this world are similarly situated, without be- 
ing either melancholy or misanthropical ! ” 

“Very likely; but not such men as Ed- 
ouard. I never see him and Rupert togeth- 
er, without wishing they could change 
places : Rupert’s simple habits and thought- 
less hilarity are perfect ly adapted to a life of 
the commonest description ; whereas Ed- 
ouard’s refinement, almost amounting to 
morbid sensibility, will make him, if chance 
or interest do not favour his ambition, the 
most wretched of men ! ” 

“Good-night,” said Cyrilla, turning away; 
“you have quite convinced me that he is not 
\t all likely to suit me, even as an acquaint- 
ance — and I suppose . he is here every 
iay ? ” 

“ He is here every day, and you will be so 
B «V^id»bly thrown together, that I wrote 

to him about you from Berlin I will be 

candid with you, dear Cyrilla, and tell you 
that your appearance is so ideal, so essentially 
poetical and refined, that I trembled for his 
peace of mind, and . . . 

“ And,” said Cyrilla, interrupting her, “and 
recommended him to be almost uncivil to me? 
Ho ought to be ery much obliged to you for 


your care of his happiness. May I ask why 
you did not think it necessary to warn me 
too ? ” 

“ Your education,” answered Melanie, 
“ must have been very different from what I 
supposed, if you could waste a serious thought 
on any one in his circumstances. I am sura 
you have received ample instruction on this 
subject.” 

“ Perhaps so,” replied Cyrilla ; * but there 
are some things I have not been able to learn, 
and this happen* to be one of them. Mam- 
ma and Fernanda used to discuss such mat- 
ters occasionally before me, and talked very 

rationally and wisely and no doubt but I 

— would rather like to believe that there is 
such a thing as love in this world.” 

“There is — there is!” cried Melanie en- 
thusiastically. “There is, and no wealth or 
station can supply its place. Oh, Cyrilla, if 
you would not lead a life of endless regrets, 
never let any thing tempt you to marry a 
man without feeling, and being assured that 
he also feels for you that description of 
love which alone is genuine, — a love inspired 
by congeniality of mind ! Love deserves not 
the name if it be not based on sentiment, 
and elevated by a mysterious combination of 
spirits ! Good-night, dearest,” she added 
hastily retreating into her room; “I hear 
Wilhelm already in his dressing-room. To- 
morrow we will discuss this important ques- 
tion more at length.” 

“Melanie is very — very sentimental,” 
thought Cyrilla, as she walked towards her 
room, “ but she is very charming also. Poor 
thing ! I know she was persuaded to marry 
the President without caring for him, and I 
now begin to suspect she liked some one else 
better. I wish I could see the letter she 
wrote to that Count Zorndorff ; it must have 
made a great impression on him, for, after the 
first rather disagreeable steady stare, he 
never again looked at me the whole evening.” 


CHAPTER IX 

Days and weeks passed — Cyrilla’s friends and 
acquaintances multiplied with that facility so 
common to youth — so impossible in later years 
In many houses, where she found companion* 
of her own age, she became intimate, and was 
not a little annoyed occasionally at the number 
of questions which were asked her about her 
cousin Rupert — If he did not intend to pur- 
chase FreUands ? — Had he not said he would 
retire from the army and settle near Exfort ? — 
Whom did she suppose he was likely to 
marry ? — Did she not think him quite a love ? 
— Had she ever heard any amateur sing so 
well as he did ? <fcc., (fee., <fcc. And not one of 
these questions, simple as they were, could she 
answer, though they concerned one of her 
nearest relations. Rupert’s neglect was thus 
made so very apparent, that she first felt 
piqued, then almost angry, whenever he was 
named. Some of her other friends were not 
less curious concerning the intentions and move- 
ments of Count Zorndorff, who they knew 
almost lived in his uncle’s house ; and it was is 


OYRILLA 


82 

vain that Cyrilla assured them that she was 
scarcely acquainted with and never spoke to 
him ; they were incredulous, and well they 
might be, for on the evenings that the Countess 
Falkenstein was “ at home,” they had observed 
that he followed her from room to room, stood 
near her, listened to what she said, occasionally 
joined in the conversation, and all with that 
appearance of careless intimacy which men, 
who have lived in the world, know so well how 
to assume towards very young women ; but 
none could know, nor could Cyrilla explain, 
that when they met the next day at dinner a 
relapse had taken place, and he was again 
frigid, or indifferent to her, and exclusively 
occupied with his uncle and aunt. 

One afternoon, as he sat in the drawing-room 
with his arms crossed, apparently in deepest 
reverie, Melanie approached Cyrilla, who w T as 
painting in water-colours, and pointing to 
Zorndorff, asked her to make a sketch of him. 
‘It will not be difficult,” she added, “as he is 
v? quiet — he has not moved for the last ten 
.aiiutes. 

'Oh, nothing can be easier,” said Cyrilla 
r.uly ; “ he is quite a man of marble — unmoved 
' -immovable. I can sketch his face without 
Poking at him — Look here — so ? ” 

Melanie bent over her, exclaiming, “'Excel- 
lent 1 nothing could be more like ! What an 
extraordinary talent, for taking likenesses you 
must have 1 ” 

“J believe,” said Cyrilla, as she carelessly 
gare the outline of the figure, “ T believe this is 
rather an exercise of memory — Shall I colour 
the head a little ? ” 
w Oh pray do.” 

In the meantime the man of marble was 
sitting upright, his pale cheek slightly flushed, 
bis dark eyes flashing, and an expression of 
surprise and pleasure pervading every feature 
vfbis face. 

“I think,” suggested Melanie, “you might 
a little more colour.” 

* Not a bit,” said Cyrilla decidedly. 

hked your sketch better,” continued Me- 
laiu. ‘ the outline was perfect.” 

“It . • ‘Sere etill,” rejoined Cyrilla ; “ this 
slight wav ri of colour cannot have changed 
it” 

“It is there, not there,” said Melanie; 
■ you have given a or*W, haughty, discontented 
expression to the head c<rw." 

“ Tia memory’s sketch/ said Cyrilla, throw- 
ing down her pencil ; “ and it la so,” she added, 
slightly shrugging her shoulders, “that Count 
ZoradorfTa head appears to me — almost — 
always.” 

Melanie walked with the drawing her 
hand into the next room to show it to the 
President Count Zorndorff rose, approached 
yrilla, sat down in a chair beside her, and 
javing watched her for a few minutes, as she 
eplaced her colours and deposited her pallets in 
e box, he observed, in his usual low well mo- 
dulated voice, “ I am sorry my head has made so 
disagreeable an impression on you, Mademoi- 
selle d’Adlerkron ; will you allow me to accuse 
you of some injustice in your judgment of me I ” 

“ Of your head — not of you.” 

“ My head 1 why that’s myself — my all — all 
I have in the world! Mv head, with some 


mechanical assistance on the part of my hands, 
must earn my bread, give me clothes — a roof 
to cover me, and perhaps some of those luxu- 
ries which civilization has rendered almost 
necessary to life ! ” 

“ W e spoke merely of the expression of your 
features,” observed Cyrilla. 

“You said I appeared to you cold and 
haughty,” continued Zorndorff; “ I am neither 
the cue nor the other.” 

“Very likely,” said Cyrilla, playing with 
her pencil. “ it inav be the regularity of your 
features which gives them an expression of 
severity.” 

“ I am not severe, not haughty, and but too 
surely not cold.” Had Cyrilla looked at him, 
she would have believed the latter assertion at 
least ; she did not, and lie continued : “ Cold ! 
As cold as Kecla under its crust of ice ! To 
the charge of discontent I plead guilty.” 

“ Melanie calls it melancholy, and the word 
sounds better,” observed Cyrilla, smiling. 

“ Let us call it by tlr* right name — discon- 
tent. I am altogether dissatisfied with myself, 
my lot in life — in short, with the whole world.” 

“ And I find such discontent so unreasonable, 
that, instead of comlniserating, I feel inclined 
to laugh at you ; and would do so if I knew 
you well enough,” said Cyrilla, moving back 
her chair. 

“Stay, Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron, one mo 
ment .... You said, or implied that I .... or, il 
you will, my head, was not always disagreeable 
to you.” 

“ Did I ? I suppose I meant, that in society 
you looked more amiable than you do for us t 
every day here.” 

“You could scarcely make a remark ealeu 
kited to place me in a more disadvantageous 
light ; and it is not altogether without founda- 
tion, nor without cause. With you the case is 
exactly the contrary ; you are a thousand times 
more charming, a thousand times more fasci- 
nating, when we are quite alone than when you 
are seen in a crowd.” 

“ Your words admit of a double sense,” said 
Cyrilla, laughing ; “ you may mean that I am 
a cheerful sort of person, with whom it is plea- 
sant to pass a few hours every day, or .... ” 

“ Pleasant ! Oh, something more than plea- 
sant” 

“ Or you may mean that I am too inaamfi- 
cant to be observed among others.” 

“ You are lost, or rather thrown away, iik. 
an exotic flower in a gardener’s table- bcruque v 
said Zorndorf£ with increasing animation. “ On* 
never can admire a flower as it deserves, untz 
it is seen alone. A rosebud for instance is 
with all its intrinsic beauty, a flower but little 
observed when, with jessamines, jonquils, ge- 
raniums, and dozens of others, it composes a 
part of those pyramidical bouquets which gar 
aeners love to form .... I never see one of 
without thinking of a ball-room — I am never 
in a ball-room without thinking of a bouquet” 

“ A very nice idea,” said Cyrilla, loaning 
back in her chair, half amused, half indifferent 

“ In looking at a bouquet of this description/ 
continued Zorndorff, “ one seldom singles out a 
flower for particular admiration.” Ee paused 
a moment, aud then added, “ Let me, however, 
take one — a rosebud, a lily, or wfot jm wiiC 


CTRILLA. 


as 


and let me place it in a glass of water ; give 
me time to examine and admire it at leisure, 
and I shall soon think it most beautiful — most 
perfect — and wonder that, even among the 
others, I had not instantly sought one like it.” . 

“You are right,” said Cyriila; “all plants ! 
are beautiful when carefully examined ; and,” ! 
she said, bending over the paper before her. 
und almost unconsciously beginning to sketch 
rosebuds and lilies, “ and really the whom idea 
is so poetical, that you might put it into verse.” 

“ Are vou laughing at me ? ” he asked 


other things too ; but it is ajsurc avoiding 
present pleasure from a vague fear that it may 
increase future misery. Mademoiselle d’Adler- 
kron shall never again have cause to complain 
of my ungraciousness.” 

The announcement of dinnei ended the con- 
versation, but Cyrilla’s interest was excited, 
and the more so, as her sister’s countenance as- 
sumed an unusual gravity. Zomdorff did not 
that day, or ever after, follow his uncle into his 
study, but joining Melanie and Cyriila after din- 
ner, read or talked to them the whole evening. 


calmly. 

“ No, I was only thinking of what Melanie 
told me a few days ago.” 

“ What did she tell you ? ” 

“That you had written some delightfully 
wild, despairing poems, and published them 
under a feigned name.” 

“A- youthful folly that I hoped had been 
orgotten,” said ZorndorfF, smiling. 

“She said also,” continued Cyriila, archly, 
“that you could talk poetical prose some- 
times.” 

“That was not my intention just now,” said 
ZorndorfF, rising ; “ but if you cannot, or will 
not, understand my allegory, let me tell you, 
in plain words, that however safe I may ima- 
gine myself when I see you surrounded by 
others, you might become dangerous to my 
peace of mind were I to yield to the inclination 
I constantly feel of conversing unrestrainedly 
with you.” 

Cyriila looked at him for a moment in aston- 
ishment. Some confused thoughts of an ice- 
covered volcano, bouquets, ball-rooms, and buds 
of roses, passed through her mind — then came 
the tolerably clear idea that Count ZorndorfF, 
the cold impenetrable man of marble, had 
not been, or was not so insensible, as she had 
supposed. A feeling of gratified vanity was 
succeeded by a smile of unequivocal pleasure, 
that changed into a merry laugh, in which she 
was joined by Zomdorff, even while he said, “ I 
wish you would always laugh, and then I 
should have nothing to fear.” 

“ You would have nothing to fear !” repeat- 
ed Melapie, joining them. “ What on earth are 
you talking about j ” 

“ I have been endeavouring to explain to 
your sister my motives for avoiding her socie- 
ty, and wish I could make her understand that 
I am not always the dull, disagreeable fellow 
I have been for the last six weeks.” 

“ Dull and disagreeable ! I am sure Cyriila 
never thought ” 

“ Excuse me, Melanie. I certainly did at 
least think your praises of Count ZorndorfF a 
little exaggerated — that he was not dull, I 
could discover by his conversation with others ; 
but, as far as I am concerned, I must say he is 
the only man I ever found actually ungracious 

me, and and rather disagreeable than 

b the r wise.” 

“ That was more than I intended,” cried Zorn- 
dorff, with unusual warmth; “but a medium in 
such cases is not possible, and henceforth I will 
be — myself — such as I am.” 

“ Edouard, dear Edouard,” cried Melanie, 
with a look of alarm, “ have you forgotten all 
1 said to you ? ” 

“No; I remember it perfectly, and some 

3 




* 

CHAPTER X. 

Zorn dor ff’s explanation made a deep and last 
ing impression on Cyriila, nor was his manner 
afterwards calculated to weaken it. If he did 
not positively seek her society, he at least never 
seemed to avoid it ; and, when they were to- 
gether, he talked naturally, and apparently 
without reserve, on every subject, allowing him- 
self to be laughed at for his fastidious tastes, 
and listening gravely to her lectures on the in- 
fluences of inordinate ambition. Too proud to 
be vain, he was evidently perfectly indifferent 
to his very uncommon personal advantages, and 
in proportion as Cyriila observed tins, she be- 
came aware of them, acquiring by degrees a 
sense of the “ beautiful ” which might even have 
satisfied her sister, had she thought proper again 
to question her. Day by day ZorndorfF rose in 
her estimation — how could it be otherwise 1 
The President consulted him on important busi- 
ness. Melanie’s encomiums were unceasing, 
and they no longer appeared exaggerated to 
Cyriila. In the society of Exfort, he was, by 
common consent, the leader of fashion, without 
having given himself the slightest trouble to 
obtain that eminence ; and Cyriila could not 
long remain unconscious that, even against his 
will, she had begun to “ endanger his peace of 
mind.” She pardoned, as every woman in her 
place would have done, the occasional glances 
that betrayed this secret — forgave him sooner 
than he did himself, and felt a degree of com- 
passion for his magnanimous struggles that 
almost verged on tenderness. It was these 
' same efforts on his part to overcome and con- 
ceal his growing admiration and regard, that 
gave peculiar interest to their intercourse. She 
began to understand why he was discontented, 
and even to entertain vague wishes that she 
had been born an heiress ; but it was not until 
he had been absent for some days in Berlin, 
that she discovered how extremely insipid all 
other men were — how very necessary his so- 
ciety must be to his aunt and uncle ! Per- 
haps she was glad when he returned t; Exfort, 
She gave him her hand for a moment, but it 
was singular that, as Melanie warmly welcomed 
him, and added the assurance that they had 
found it almost impossible to live without him, 
Cyriila said not one word, but, bending over 
her work, slightly averted her face, which had 
suddenly become flushed in a very unusual man 
ner. Zomdorff was not at all hurt at her si- 
lence. On the contrary, a look of surprise was 
quickly followed by a smile of satisfaction, and 


. 


s< 


C VT R I L L A 


a visible exLilatation of spirits, that lasted for | 
•ome time. • 

‘*1 saw your cousin Rupert very often,” he 
observed, after a pause. 

“ Did you ? ” said Qvrilla, carelessly. 

Zorndorff laughed. I expected,” he con- 
tinued, “ to have been stormed with questions 
about the movements of so very important a j 
person.” 

“ Important ! ” repeated Cyrilla ; “ I really i 
was not aware of his importance.” 

“ Why, is he not the head and hope of your j 
fymily?” lie asked ironically. 

“ That may give him importance iu the eyes of j 
my aunt in Salzburg ; but, for my part ” | 

“ For your part,” said Melanie, “ I can easily ! 
imagine that a little common civility, a very 
slight show of regard when you were in Ber- 
lin, would have raised him in your opinion far 
more than all his possessions. I hope, Edouard, 
you gave him no information whatever about 
Cyrilla” 

I “ He did not ask for any.” 

“ You do not mean to say that he did not 
speak of us at all ? ” 

“Not exactly; he hoped you were all well, 
or something to that purport. You know, of 
course, that he has purchased Freilands, and 
intends to furnish the house magnificently” 

“ I am in total ignorance of everything con- 
cerning him.” 

“ He will be here to-morrow to give you any 
information you may desire.” 

“To-morrow ! ” repeated Melanie; then, turn- 
ing to her sister, she added, “ Cyrilla, you will 
really do me a favour by endeavouring to be 
out of the w r ay when he arrives — by avoiding 
him for a day or two” 

“ I don't think he will observe whether I am 
here or not,” said Cyrilla, half-laughing. 

“ But, Edouard, don’t you think w r e ought 
to punish him in some way for his neglect ? ” 
asked Melanie. 

K Yes ; but if I may offer an opinion, I 
should say that a quiet system of indifference 
during his stay here would be better than 
avoiding him in any manner that would lead to 
explanations.” 

“ It is not easy to be indifferent with him — 
he is too good-natured ; and then, you know, 
he cannot endure the idea of having offended 
any one, and will be sure to explain or apolo- 
gize in some queer wav, or make us forget 
what he has done by doing something else.” 

“Let u» tell him at once how good-for-noth- 
ing we think him — how offended we are,” sug- 
gested Cyrilla. 

“ He will misunderstand you,” said Zorndorff, 
" and be persuaded you are making advances 
to him ; indeed, if you do not carefully weigh 
all your actions and words, he will in all pro- 
bability think you have serious intentions on 
his heart and hand.” 

* That is true,” said Cyrilla ; “ I had forgot- 
ten that weakness of his.” 

“ That folly ! ” said Zorndorff, with a slight 

er^er. 

The President, who had entered the room 
while they were speaking, observed, “ If you 
knew as much of Rupert as I do, you would 
excuse him for entertaining some fears of peo- 
ple having designs upon bin: * he ha£ had a 


good deal of experience iu that way Edouard 
might have been able to give you information 
enough on the subject, if he had not just about 
that time been too much occupied with his own 
affairs’ — eh, Edouard ? ” 

Zorndorff bit his lip, and murmured some- 
thing about the love affairs of students beiug 
seldom of much importance. 

“ You must not say that, Edouard ; we may 
hope there are exceptions, and that ” 

“ Excuse me for interrupting you,” said 
Zorndorff, rising hastily; “but you have just 
reminded me that I have a long message for 
you from old Sommerfeld about the last loan 
in which ho was concerned.” 

“ A very natural-transition,” said Count Fal- 
kenstein ; “ but first tell me how the old man 
has borne his son's death.” 

“ He is resigned, but looks ill, and remains 
for hours without speaking. Kis daughter is 
very uneasy about him.” 

“ Sorry to hear it : her brother’s death must 
have been a great shock to her in her delicate 
state of health.” 

“ We — I mean she — has been expecting it 
nearly two years,” said Zorndorff; “ it was at 
last quite a release.” 

“ But she seemed to me a person of such re- 
markably strong feelings ” 

“ Oh, yes ; horribly strong feelings,” said 
Zorndorff, shrugging his shoulders. 

“ Her fortune will now be immense,” observed 
the President. 

“It will,” said Zorndorff : “ but she cannot 
purchase health with it.” 

“ I remember hearing something of these 
Sommerfelds,” said Melanie ; “ bankers — enor- 
mously rich ; but l never met them anywhere, 
did I?” 

“ Perhaps not ; but their wealth makes them 
remarkable enough, and it is now all centred 
in one woman,” answered the President. 

“ I pity her,” said Melanie ; “ any woman 
with a fortune sufficiently large to tempt ad- 
venturers is to be pitied : better to be penniless 
and have the certainty of being chosen for one’s 
self alone ! ” 

“ And what is the use of being chosen ii 
choice is out of our poAver?” asked Cyrilla, 
quietly. “ I should not hesitate to take the 
fortune and my chance for happiness, if it were 
offered me. The relations of penniless women,” 
she added, laughing, “ are generally so unrea- 
sonable as to expect them to be satisfied with 
a house and home, and to take thankfully 
whatever they may find in it.” 

“ The relations of men in the same predica- 
ment,” said Zorndorff, “ have not unfrequcutly 
the same idea.” 

“ A man marrying from motives of interest 
is unpardonable,” began Cyrilla. 

“ Not more so than a woman’s doing so,” 
cried Zorndorff, walking across the room to 
where she was sitting ; “ and moreover, lie 
risks his happiness less than a woman in a 
similar case.” 

“He deserves to lose it altogether,” rejoined 
Cyrilla ; “ for a man by application and industry 
can provide for himself and secure an indepen- 
dence ; but what can we do ? ” 

“ I am afraid there is little doubt as to what 
Mademoiselle d’Ad-lerkrou will do,” muttered 


i 


CYRILLA 


gorndorff, turning to his unde with a forced 
Emile. 

“Let us hope,” said the President gravely, 
“ that in her case prudence and inclination may 
point to the same person.” 

The next day Rupert arrived. At Melanie’s 
request, as he walked in at one door, Cyrilla 
disappeared through another. Hi3 visit was 
short and hurrier! ; he promised to come again 
the next day, ana — did not inquire for Cyrilla. 
Melanie’s indignation was unbounded, Cyrilla 
blushed, Zorndorff laughed, the President asked 
what was the matter, but no one chose to ex- 
plain. “It was not worth his notice — mere 
nonsense.” Count Falkenstein did not like 
nonsense, and asked no further question. So 
profound was the respect entertained for him 
by all his household, that they never ventured 
to make him acquainted with any of those 
little domestic events and jests that, after all, 
make the sum of private life. Yet he was not 
an ill-tempered man or a tyrant, but so unbend- 
ingly master, that he was approached with 
reverence, spoken to with reserve, and — avoided 
as much as possible. 

The day following, Cyrilla purposely and 
willingly went out, and Melanie received her 
cousin Rupert with a reserved dignity, which, 
however, was altogether unperceived by him. 
ProYokingly unconscious of his disgrace, he 
walked about the room, examining the books 
and turning over the music, until he seated 
himself at Cyrilla’s drawing-table, and, in the 
contemplation of her sketches, remained for 
some time quite quiet. 

“ How well she draws !•” he observed ab- 
ruptly. 

“ Meaning Cyrilla ? ” asked Melanie* 

“ Exactly — where is she ? ” 

“ Gone out.” 

“ When is she likely to return ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Don’t you ? that’s odd. Did you not tell 
her that I intended to come here to-day ? ” 

“Of course; but — she had an engage- 
ment ” 

“Really! not very important, most prob- 
ably!” 

“ Why — no — it is precisely of the same des- 
cription as yours the evening you had not time 
to speak to her in Berlin.” 

“ Ah, she is offended with me ! ” 

“ Not as much as I should have been in her 
place, but quite enough to prevent her from 
feeling any empressement to see you.” 

“ Oh, I don’t want or wish for anything of 
that kind,” said Rupert ; “ quite the ‘contrary ; 
but still, Melanie, I believe I had "better dine 
with you to-day, and work out a reconciliation 
with her, or else she may refuse to go to.Frei- 
lands.” 

“ She has been there already : we got up a 
pic-nic on purpose to show it to her.” , 

“I don’t mean pic-nics,” said Rupett; “I 
expect- you all to come and stay with me, — the 
President can drive into Exfort every morning 
and return to dinner.” 

“ But,” said Melanie with a smile, “ the furni- 
ture is a — of rather — too pastoral a description 
to admit of your receiving company. There 
are, I allow, garden chairs and deal tables in 
profusion, but ” 


85 

Rupert laughed. “ Do not be alarmed, my 
dear Melanie ; I know that, much as you like 
reading and writing pastorals, there is nothing 
you dread so much in reality, and you are the 
very last person in the world I should think of 
inviting to garden chairs and deal tables ! My 
furniture has long been ordered, and about a 
dozen rooms are already in a very habitable 
state — it was about yours that I was in such a 
hurry yesterday. You once said that you 
liked rose-coloured furniture, because it Was 
becoming to people with dark hair, or some- 
thing of that sort ; and so ” 

“ How is it possible that you can remember 
what I most probably said years ago ? ” asked 
Melanie with some surprise: “it must have 
been about the time that my boudoir was being 
newly furnished ! ” 

“ Precisely, — but I should perhaps have for- 
gotten your remark if I had not afterwards 
seen you in the boudoir, and found that in rose- 
coloured light you were perfectly irresistible. 
There you sat as usual composing verses ; but, 
even while scanning the lines, you arranged a 
casket of jewels, which gave your appearance 
such a charming mixture of Occident and oriqpt 
that added 4o your black hair, for which I have 
always had a sort of passion : I — at once, and 
without hesitation, fell desperately in love with 
you,” 

“ Nonsense, Rupert ! ” 

“ Fact, I assure you. If my poor uncle were 
alive he could bear witness, for to him I told 
my love ! ” 

“Well,” said Melanie laughing, “and what 
did he say 1 ” 

“ He said it was tho best thing that could 
have happened to me,— that a sentimental 
fancy for a woman of talent and fashion, such 
as you were, would be of the greatest advan- 
tage to me, and form my manners better than 
anything else in the world ; so you see you 
have unconsciously assisted in my education.” 

“ If that, be the case,” said Melanie, “ I must 
say you have shown your gratitude for my 
services in rather an extraordinary way. No 
one, not even Wilhelm, has ever so openly 
turned me into ridicule as you have ! ” 

“That,” said Rupert, “is the most curious 
thing of all ; when actually in the act of laugh- 
ing at you, I admired you, and would not for 
any consideration have had you other than you 
were ! ” 

“ Allow me to doubt the existence of your 
admiration, Rupert.” 

“ No, I won’t — when you believe so many 
other queer things, you must believe that too. 
I assure you just before you left Berlin and 
can^e to settle here, I had begun to think it 
quite possible that between us (notwithstanding 
our difference of disposition) a mysterious 
sympathy of souls ” 

“Spirits, not soul3,” said Melanie, gravely 
interrupting him. 

“ You used to say souls.” 

^ “I don’t think I did; but at all events 
Edouard has convinced me of the disadvantages 
of an incorrect use of the expressions, body, 
soul, and spirit : the body is what we have in 
common with plants and the lowest order of 
animals, — the soul is neither more nor less than 
the invisible being e*r life of th£ body : by sa 


96 


CYRIL LA. 


speaking, we give ourselves merely the highest 
rank among animals.” 

Rupert looked attentive, and she continued : 

Now. though some animals in the creation 
bear a strong resemblance, both in form and 
organization, to man, there is, in fact, an im- 
passable gulf between them. It is the intellect 
or spirit that gives us a place quite alone in the 
creation.” 

“ O ho ! ” cried Rupert ; “ this sounds better 
than the ghosts and goblins about which you 
used to talk so much last year, after haviug 
*ead Justinus Kerner’s Somnambulist of Pre- 
vorst. I suppose Zorndorff got tired of pre- 
tending to believe such a heap of marvellous 
imaginings, and has endeavoured to turn vour 
mind to something else” 

“ You are quite mistaken, Rupert ; however, 
all I want to explain to you is, that to prevent 
a confusion of ideas, one should iu speaking, 
instead of body, use the word soul, which ex- 
presses its life and being, and for what is com- 
monly called the immortal soul — the word 
spirit.” 

“ Soul ahd spirit,” repeated Rupert, “ and no 
body at all ! But, if I am not mistaken, Ker- 
ner’s Somnambulist also says, that in death the 
spirit will 'be separated from the soul as well 
as from the brain and heart.” 

“ It will,” cried Melanie eagerly ; “ and if 
you once agree to the correctness of the terms, 
soul and spirit, all confusion ceases, — all un- 
necessary wonder about the union of such 
different things as spirit and body ceases : we 
hare only to take the soul as connecting link, 
if you have no objection. . . t . . .” 

“ None whatever ” said Rupert, closing 
CyrilLTs portfolio and coming towards her. 

“ Then, Rupert, you see, between spirit and 
soul there is sufficient resemblance to admit of 
amalgamation ; for while spirit is immaterial, 
quite distinct from matter, the soul, as vital or 
directive principle of the body, is not without a 
certaiu consciousness of being, although it can- 
not in thinking and imagining arrive at taking 
itself as an object of thought or forming the 
idea of an idea.” 

“We will talk of all this some other day 
when I have more time,” said Rupert, rising ; 
“and I may, I hope, now congratulate you on 
having formed an ‘idea of an idea ’ which, I 
trust, will put to flight all the apparitions 
which were so destructive to your peace of 
mind when you chanced to be in a room alone, 
or in the dark.” 

“ Why, not exactly,” answered Melanie with 
some embarrassment, “ for you see the two 
systems admit of. ” 

“ An amalgamation ? ” cried Rupert. “ My 
dear Melanie, that would take long to prove, 
and must also be deferred to some other day. 
I ought to be off now, if I mean to give you the 
pleasure of my company at dinner.” 

“ Try to be here in right time, Rupert, — you 
know Wilhelm cannot endure having to wait.” 

“ Then don’t wait oDe minute for me. I say* 
Melanie,” be added, stopping at the door, “ I 
wish you would prevent Zorndorff from talking 
about religion or philosophy before Cyrilla. 
She is very young, you know, and he might 
fill her miud with doubts and perplexities.” 

“And I say, Rupert, you seem to have a 


most erroneous idea of Cyril a. I is true she 
is young, but she lias read, heard, and seen 
much more than you suppose, and can support 
her opinions as well as can be expected from 
a woman.” 

“ Oh, I have the highest possible opinion of 
her intellect and education, I assure you; 
nevertheless, you must allow that philosophical 
speculations are useless, if not dangerous for 
most people. I pity those who make philosophy 
their stuay. What has been the result of alf 
our systems? A collection of curious hypo- 
theses, for the fabrication of which we Germans 
are as celebrated as the English for their cut- 
lery, or the Genevese for watches.” 

“ But,” said Melanie, “ many things are 
taught at our universities under the name of 
philosophy that are both interesting and in- 
structive, without being at all dangerous.” 

“ You know very well that was not what I 
meant, — I referred to Zondorff ’s scepticism” 

“ Oh, I assure you he is greatly improved in 
that respect. Cyrilla has been of great use to 
him.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“He goes to church quite regularly now, 
pays the greatest attention to the sermon, and 
talks of it afterwards with us. Last Sunday 
he took notes, and repeated the whole sermon 
in the evening, almost word for word.” 

“ In mockery ! ” exclaimed Rupert, his brows 
slightly contracted. 

“Not at all, perfectly seriously — he is re- 
markably eloquent ; you must hear him some 
day” 

“ No, thank you,” said Rupert, as he strode 
towards the door ; “ 1 prefer hearing a less 
eloquent -discourse from some one authorized to 
preach, — from a man like Englmann, whose 
practice is a living sermon of the doctrines he 
professes.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

Melanie’s remark, that Rupert could not en 
dure the idea of having offended any one, 
was perfectly correct. Although intending 
to show his indifference to, and if necessary, 
his determination not to marry his cousin, no 
sooner had he heard that she was annoyed at 
his neglect, than he felt sorry for it, and 
wished to make amends. When about half 
way to Freilands, the voice of conscience be- 
came so clamorous and reproachful that he 
turned his horse’s head, rode quickly back to 
Exfort, dressed for dinner, and hurried to the 
Government House a full hour before he was 
expected. Cyrilla and Zorndorff were in the 
Irawing-room, the door into the President’s 
study was open, and his heavy step was au- 
dible, as he paced backwards and fcrwards, 
while dictating in a low voice to his secre- 
tary. Cyrilla was reading, Zorndorff writing, 
when Rupert was announced, and they both 
looked up as he entered. 

Nodding familiarly to Zorndorff, he ad- 
vanced quickly towards Cyrilla, stooped 
down and kissed her cheek ; but it was with 
a nonchalance, made rather too evident by 
the fact, that, at the same moment, he 


CYRIL LA. 


37 


off his gloves, arid his eyes wandered round 
the room in search of Melanie. Now, Cyrilla, 
like all young and pretty women, was not 
disposed to submit willingly to mere duty 
kisses; she would rather have dispensed with 
them altogether, and endeavoured, by a very 
significant shake of her head, to demonstrate 
her impatience under the infliction ; she even 
bent over her book, and pretended to read, 
as, with a laudable effort to look grave and 
penitent, he said. “ I hear you are offended 
with me Cyrilla, and I acknowledge not alto- 
gether without reason ; nevertheless, I hope 
you will forgive my inattention — carelessness 
. — thoughtlessness — or whatever name you 
may choose to give my offence, when I . . . . 
but perhaps the best thing I could do would 
be to tell you the real cause of it ! ” 

“ If there be a cause,” replied Cyrilla, while 
elie quietly played with the leaves of her 
book, “ if there b</ a cause, not one of the 
■words you have used is the right name for 
what you have done — or rather not done! ” 

“ Why Melanie herself could not have given 
me abetter answer,” cried Rupert, laughing; 
“I did not expect you to weigh my words in 
that manner.” 

“Of course not,” said Cyrilla; “I have 
heard from Melanie that you consider me 
quite a child.” 

“ When 1 saw you last, dear Cyrilla, you 
were a child; the intervening years have 
passed quickly, and you are scarcely at all 
changed — I mean in features. Even these 
- long fair curls are just what they used to be. 
Oh, why,” he said, lightly touching them, 
“ why are they not black, or even dark 
brown ? ” 

“ Because I am an Adlerkron Windhorst,” 
answered Cyrilla, laughing ; “ and while they 
remind you of our near relationship, they tell 
you, as plainly as words could do, that their 
colour can never in any way interest or con- 
cern you.” 

“ Do they ? I wonder if your mother 

would allow your curls to speak in 

this manner to me — my aunt certainly would 
not.” 

“ What mamma would permit, I don’t 
know; what my aunt — I don’t care.” 

“ Then she did say something to you about 
it?” 

“ About what ? ” asked Cyrilla, looking up 
inquiringly. 

“About me.'” 

“ Not a word — not a syllable — but I heard 
from others that you had the ridiculous 
weakness of imagining that every woman who 
was commonly civil to you must necessarily 
wish to marry you ! ” 

“ Who could have traduced me in this 
manner ! ” exclaihied Rupert, while a blush 
of mixed annoyanee and sliame spread over 
his features. “What a weak vain fool you 
must think me ! ” 

“Not exactly,” said Cyrilla ; “for the per- 
son who gave me the information more than 
hinted that it was your possessions, and not 
J'our person, that you suspected to be the ob- 
ject of al designing womankind.” 

Rupert remaii.ed silent for more than a 
minute. 


“ It seems,” added Cyrilla, “ that } ou can- 
not quite deny the charge.” 

“I was not thinking of it,” replied Rupert, 
“ I — I wish we were alone — I should like to 
be perfectly candid with you.” 

“ He is too busy writing to hear us,” said 
Cyrilla, glancing towards Zorndorff; “but 
we can go to the sofa at the window, if you 
choose.” 

And to the sofa they went, and Rupert, 
without hesitation or reserve, whispered the 
whole story of his aunt’s plans. Cyrilla did 
not attach the importance to his communica- 
tion which he had expected, and seemed to 
think the whole affair very amusing ; but the 
merry answer and light laugli that served so 
completely to reassure him, equally effectu- 
ally destroyed the equanimity of Count Zorn- 
dorff. She had thought him too busy writ- 
ing to hear ; but he had heard Rupert, with 
all the familiarity of near relationship, call 
his cousin “dear Cyrilla,” and use the pro- 
noun Hu, the tutoiment Dutzen , as it is called 
in Germany, which in itself removes at once 
all obstacles to perfect intimacy : he saw 
Cyrilla go witli him to a distantsofa, and 
I whisper arid laugh ! And thera/tfrev were 
I now, as if they had been togethefrall their 
lives, talking of places and people, he knew 
nothing about ! 

He stopped writing, leaned his head on his 
hand, and indulged in a long reverie of a 
more serious than agreeable nature, the re- 
sult of which seemed to be a determination 
not to look at or disturb the conversation of 
the cousins, for lie took up his papers and 
walked with them into the President’s 
study. 

“Ah, I’m so much obliged to Zorndorff for 
taking himself off',” observed Rupert. 

“ I’m afraid we have disturbed him,” said 
Cyrilla, “and he was writing something of 
consequence for his uncle.” 

“ What made him bring anything of that 
kind to write in this room ? ” 

“lie says he likes the temperature here, 
and the perfume of the flowers,” replied Cy- 
rilla. 

“Luxurious fellow!” exclaimed Rupert; 

“ unchanged, unchangeable ! but a what 

were we talking about ? My uncle Carl ? or 

the time we were at Aix or, no 

our aunt in Salzburg, I believe 

Dreadful woman, isn't she? ” 

“ Most unamiable, most disagreeable,” said 
Cyrilla. 

“And then her stinginess! what one suf- 
fers from cold in her house is intolerable ! ” 

“Thank Heaven, I have never been obliged 
to live with her,” rejoined Cyrilla. 

“But I was,” said Rupert, “arid longer 
than I liked. However, directly I left the 
university, I proposed travelling, and when 
my uncle refused his consent, I went into the 
army — more to get away from her than for 
anything else. As long as my uncle lived, 
his house of course remained my head quar- 
ters, but when she became a widow, I de- 
camped altogether. Had she married Gene- 
ral Zorndorff, as we expected, though it 
would have half disinherited me, I might 
have been tempted to stay with them, m or e for 


33 


CYRILLA, 


the fun of the thing, however, than because 
* I happened at the time to be his aid-de- 
camp. 

“General ZorndorfF? ” repeated Cyrilla, 
“ any relation of ” 

“ Only his father, but as different a man 
as well can be imagined ; they had been en- 
gaged to each other during some of those 
years of revolution which now belong to his- 
tory, but being both hot-tempered, they 
quarrelled, and mutually returned all letters 
and locks of hair. The war separated them, 
and our aunt married uncle Gottfried.’’ 

“ What a life he must have led with her 1 ” 
observed Cyrilla. 

“Not so bad as you suppose. lie was one 
of those quiet sort of men who do what they 
like themselves, and let others do the same; 
they never interfered with each other. lie 
attended to his wide-spreading speculations, 
employed his leisure hours in the arrange- 
ment of my affairs, as you know he was my 
guardian, and his wife amused herself with 
her h ouse friend. ” 

“ Her house friend ! ” repeated Cyrilla, . 
“ and who was that \ ” 

“ Thev^vere nunferous. I can remember 
at least l(Jpi-a-dozen.” 

“ I dionot think she had so many friends 
in the world,” said Cyrilla. 

“Oh, the friendship was not very great 

after all — they were only people young 

men who, having plenty of time to 

spare, got the habit of being eternally in her 
ho£se, blowing the flute, scraping the violin, 
or driving about with her — -just like Polyak, 
you know. Now, when the General as 
widower and she as widow again became be- 
trothed, he informed her in one of their tete- 
a-tetes that, though he had an aid-de-camp, 
he should consider such an appendage quite 

unnecessary for his wife but ” 

said Rupert stopping suddenly, “perhaps I 

ought not to tell you all this it’s very 

improper conversation eh ? ” 

“ Oh, not at all,” said Cyrilla, laughing, 
-‘only family affairs which I ought to know: 
pray, go on.” 

i “ Well, he plainly insisted on a cessation 
of all such demi-sentim enfcal connexions at 
once and for ever ; said that he had no fancy 
for blowing out his own brains or those of 
any one else, and such would inevitably be 
the consequence of a persistence in the line 
of conduct which she had observed during 
her first marriage! It was strong language 
to use towards a middle-aged woman who 
was about to settle half of her very large for- 
tune upon him ; but I think he acted hon- 
ourably, though many people, and among 
them his son, thought him a great fool. I 
am told that this their second encounter, in 
ail the strength of riper years, was terrific — 
they separated, vowing never to speak again: 
but the cause of quarrel became known ; my 
aunt received one or two disagreeable anony- 
mous letters, could not avoid meeting the 
General wherever she went, and at last emi- 
grated to Salzburg.” 

“ Quite a history,” said Cyril. a, thought- 
fully, “but,” she added, looking up with a 
*mile, “ but suppose now she were to marry 


Count Polyak, ht w odd it would K to have 
such a little young uncle ! 

“Not the least idea of any such thing on 
either side,” answered Ri pert. “ When the 
regiment leaves* Polyak will give her sc me 
handsome present as so wenir, (she never 
gives anything,) and then she will look out 
for his successor, and so it will go on until 
she is quite old, when she will either become 
outrageously pious, or an inveterate card- 
player.” 

“ A card-player, I fear,” said Cyrilla ; “ for 
dear mamma was often obliged to play with 
her for hours last winter; and sometimes 
Fernanda, even when dressed for a ball, has 
been forced to play piquet until the carriage 
came to the door.” 

Melanie at this moment entered the room, 
and Rupert exclaimed, “Well, I hope you 
have arranged every thing witli the Presi- 
dent, and I may expect you all to-morrow at 
Freilands ? ” 

“ Yes ; Wilhelm did not make a single ob- 
jection — likes the plan of all things — but 
poor dear Edouard ” 

“ And what prevents ‘ poor dear Edouard 9 
from going also ? ” asked Rupert, laughing ; 
“ he can drive into and out of Exfort every 
day with Falkenstein, and if he prefer riding, 
he can have a horse.” 

“ Sueli a one perhaps as you lent me, when 
I was last in Berlin!” said Zorndorfl’ who 
was now standing at the door with the Presi- 
dent. 

Rupert coloured and laughed. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Melanie. 

“ lie offered me the choice of all his hor- 
ses, and when I went to his stables, not one 
of any description was there, they had all 
been borrowed or taken off by his friends. 
On my observing that I should be glad to 
have a phaeton, drosohka, or whatever might 
be forthcoming, one of the grooms informed 
me that the head coachman had just driven 
oug with the only pair of carriage horses 
left.” 

“I promise that nothing of that kind shall 
happen while you are at Freilands,” said 
Rupert. 

“Nevertheless, I must refuse your invita 
tion.” 

“ But you will honour my d^jeune with your 
presence next week, I hope,” said Rupert, 
carelessly, ZorndorfTs refusal apparently 
making much less impression on him than on 
the others. 

“What day is it to be ? ” 

“ Ask Melanie or Cyrilla. I intend to 
give them carte blanche to make Freilands as 
gay as it can be made, for the next six weeks. 
We shall begin with a deje&n6, because some 
of my fair friends in ExfoijJ choose to say that 
I promised to give one as soon as I should 
enter into possession ; and, indeed, I don’t 
know whAt we could do better.” 

“ Nothing, ”«aid Cyrilla, “excepting, per 
haps, getting up a comedy, or an opera, 
or ” 

“ Delightful !” "cried Rupert eagerly, 
“there is a large space on 4he top of the 
house, which seems as if it hadbee n intended 
for o theatre. And now Melanie,” lie added 


C YRILL A. 


8S. 


as they went to dinner, “ if you can arrange 
gome tableaux, and discover a haunted room 
at Freilands, I really think we shall be able 
to give tile inhabitants of Exfort something 
to talk about.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

Freieands was deficient in all the interest at- 
tached to an old, but abounded in all the 
comforts expected from a new place. The 
jfirst building, a hunting-lodge, had been 
turned into offices, when, after a few visits, 
the proprietor had discovered that the park 
possessed beauties which rendered it worthy 
of being the site of a handsome residence. 
Xot alone was it enlivened arid irrigated by 
a not quite inconsiderable river, but a lake 
of very fair proportions, and trees of every 
ossible size and description, had been by 
im so judiciously brought to view, that 
even Prince Piickler might have been satis- 
fied, and no one in Exfort had thought of 
disputing the propriety of denominating the 
grounds about the house, “English gardens.” 

The building itself had a noble hall, a 
magnificent staircase, high spacious rooms, 
large windows, and a long wide stone balco- 
ny, which formed a roof to the portico under 
which the principal entrance had been made. 
The furniture was the handsomest that the 
best upholsterer in Berlin could furnish, and 
was rich, comfortable, and perfectly modern. 
Rupert had reserved but one room for him- 
self, which he justly thought he could ar- 
range better than any one else ; it was his 
own private sitting-room, the walls of which 
he purposed covering with a perfect and 
valuable collection^ of the newest arms of 
all descriptions, from the most diminutive 
pistol to the longest rifle, the lightest dagger 
to the most ponderous sword. The apart- 
ment he happened to choose was at the very 
end of the reception rooms, and particularly 
cheerful, from having both a south and west 
aspect; but, when he returned home from 
his cousins on the evening just recorded, to 
his infinite dismay he discovered in this very 
room a large glass, extending from the ceil- 
ing to the floor, just opposite the doorway, 
and occupying ‘the place intended for his 
muskets and carabines. 

All protestations were vain ; such a glass 
was necessary to extend the vista — the end 
room at the other side was also furnished with 
one. It must be so. 

“Then,” said Rupert, “you may furnish 
this room altogether like the other end room, 
and I shall take the one adjoining it ; but it 
is hard enough that I may not have the room 
I like best in my own house.” 

“In fact,” said the upholsterer, evidently 
pleased at the concession, although so unwil- 
lingly made, “in fact, the room belongs to the 
suite, and ought never to have been, allow 
•me to say so, disfigured with guns and swords. 
If they had been pictures, indeed, ...... .” 

“ iSo pictures, ” cried Rupert, impatiently ; 
“I am tired of pictures, and wish this house 
ko be as light and cheerful as possible — glass- 


es and candelabra as many as you please, buA 
no pictures.” 

“But,” asked the man, a little alarmed, 

“ but you have no objection to the frescoes in 
the ball-room, I hope ? The dancing figures 
are so appropriate, that I left them as I found 
them, and ” 

“ 0, I have no objection to dancing figures,” 
said Rupert, good-humoredly, “ or to the Cu 
pids either, who seem to be playing at hide- 
and-seek among the wreaths of impossible 
flowers that adorn the orchestra gallery.” 

The upholsterer bowed — he did not feel 
quite sure of the sincerity of the praise be- 
stowed, but he consoled himself with the 
idea that a little irritation was natural on the .* 
part of his employer, when he had been al- 
most compelled to resign a room to which he 
had evidently taken a fancy. As Rupert 
whistled for his dogs and walked off towards 
the lake, the workmen were summoned, and, 
late as it was, all the furniture, guns, pistols, 
and swords inclusive, removed into the ad- 
joining room, arranged according to a sketch 
found on the writing-table, and the rose-colour- 
ed furniture which had that day arrived from 
Berlin substituted. When Rupert returned, 
they were still hammering at the curtains, 
and the sound induced him to look into the 
room. After a short survey, he seemed more 
than contented with the chang^ and smiled 
with inward satisfaction as he thought, “I 
shall tell Melanie, that I expect her to con- 
sider this room as especially hers, on account 
of the colour of the furniture, and then I can 
manage like the President, and open and shut 
my door according as I feel disposed for com- 
pany or — solitude.” 

The next day his relations arrived, but Ru- 
pert did not manage like the President, for he 
never felt at all disposed for solitude : the 
door of his armoury, as Cyrilla directly named 
his room, was never closed, and he began very 
soon to discover that fair hair and delicate 
features looked quite as well as their contra- 
ries, when seen in the light reflected from 
rose-coloured silk. How far the principle of 
opposition to the “ dreadful woman,” (namely, 
his aunt,) might have enabled him to resist 
these allurements, it is hard to say ; but ho 
was not proof against the fascination of Cyril- 
la’s voice and highly cultivated talent for mu- 
sic. He was himself an excellent musician, 
and his well exercised tenor harmonized nat- 
urally and easily with her high soprano; 
charmed with her, and perhaps not a little 
pleased with himself, he induced her every 
evening to sing with him, apologizing to her, 
and even in some degree to himself, for the 
hours spent in the music-room, by whispering, 
“We must do something to amuse the Presi- 
dent, or he may get tired of Freilands.” 

One evening, before the lighted lamps had 
dra'tfn them together, while Melanie was sit- 
ting in the large balcony, which it has been 
said formed the roof of the portico, pensively 
gazing on the rising moon, the President 
standing at a window endeavouring to catch 
the last rays of departing daylight on a book 
over which he resolutely bent, Rupert called 
Cyrilla into the music-roop, and begged her 
losing for ^im — for him alone. “There is 


*0 


CYRILLA 


nothing bo de — ueious as music in tlii j twilight 
hour,” lie added ; “ and I think I feel rather 
disposed for something sentimental or melan- 
choly, just a present” 

Cyrilla’s *ight fingers modulated through 
several keys, before she felt herself sufficiently 
melancholy to sing “ Theckla’s Song ” of des- 
pairing love. Rupert had walked to the other 
end of the room when she began ; he soon 
again approached her, for, to suit the words, 
which she pronounced with extraordinary 
distinctness, her voice became Softer and soft- 
er, and he drew nearer and nearer, until he 
reached a chair close to hers. She ceased 
almost whisperingly, and remained silent, her 
hands falling listlessly together. Like most 
people who sing with feeling, she was moved, 

“ even with the sound herself had made.” 

“ Thank you,” he said, absently, and then, 
after a pause, added, “ If you were other than 
my light-hearted cousin Cyrilla, I should feel’ 
convinced that nothing but a personal appro- 
priation of those words of Schiller’s could 
enable you to sing them with such expression 
— such passion.” 

“I fancied myself in the place of Theckla 
while I was singing.” 

o O 

“ And you felt ” began Rupert. 

“ I felt for the moment all her painful un- 
certainty, her hopes, her fears. I even tried 
to imagine her love for Max Piccolomini, that 
most perfect personification of truth and ho- 
nour; but now,” she said gaily, “now I feel 
nothing of all this; I only perceive that I am 
in a very dark room with my cousin Rupert, 
whose resemblance to Piccolomini I have yet 
to learn.” 

“I hope that in truth and honour I may 
never be found deficient,” said Rupert ; “ and 
as your imagination seems to be strong, I 
should like very much to know if you have 
already formed, not what Melanie would call 
an ideal but a rational incorporation of these 
qualities, and as many others as are necessary 
to make a ” 

“ Whose voice is that in the next room ? ” 
cried Cyrilla, suddenly rising. “ Can it — can 
it be Count Zorndorff ? ” 

“Very probably,” answered Rupert, not 
quite willingly following her out of the 
room. 

It was Zorndorff — he was leaning against 
one of the glass doors opening .on the balcony, 
and speaking to Melanie, w T ho sat outside. As 
the moonlight fell on his pale features, Cyrilla. 
observed a languor in them and in his whole 
appearance, almost denoting illness, and 
though he must have heard her speaking to 
Rupert as she entered the room, lie did not 
look up until both stood beside him. 

“I hope,” said Rupert, “you have got tired 
of being alone, and that you have come to 
remain here.” 

“No, oh no,” cried Melanie quickly, “he 
must not think of such a thing.” 

“And why?” asked Rupert, with some 
surprise. “Did you not tell me you wished 
of all things to consult him about our d6jeu- 
»er — that I was too great a blockhead to be 
able to give you any advice concerning the 
arrangements? ” 

’ Dear Rupert, 1 certainly did not call you 


a blockhead,” said Melanie ; “I cnly observed 
that it would not do to leave every thing to 
your housekeeper and chef de cuisine.” 

“Well,*at all events, to my certain know- 
ledge you wrote Zorndorff a note this morn- 
ing, telling him our dilemma about the thea- 
tre, and asking his advice ; and now that he 
is here, you will not allow him to remain 
with us.” 

“I have heard that your theatre cannot 
be ready even for the projected tableaux,” 
said Zorndorff, “and that is — partly — the — • 
the reason why I have walked here this even- 
ing. I came to speak to you about a substi- 
tute.” 

“ ou walked here ! ” said Cyrilla ; “ ah, that 
is the reason you look so fatigued — the day 
has been unusually sultry.” 

Zorndorff glanced for a moment towards 
Melanie, bent his eyes on the ground, and re- 
mained silent. 

“And the substitute?” asked Rupert. 

“ Is of a kind more likely to interest others 
than you,” ansv r ered Zorndorff; “a French 
magnetizer, and a young man who allows 
himself to be magnetized, have just arrived 
at Exfort, and would have no objection to. . .” 

“Ah ! that will do famously,” cried Rupert, 
interrupting him ; “ engage them by all 
means. How did you happen to hear of 
them?” 

“ Count Lindcsmar gave them a letter to 
his sister, Madame de Bellegarde, and she 
naturally thought that m3 7 aunt was the per- 
son most likely to be of use to them.” 

“Pray, Melanie,” said Rupert, “write l 
the Bellegardes, and tell them to bring these 
magnetic treasures with them to-morrow.” 

“ Madame jde Bellegarde’s sister arrived 
to-day from Italy with her husband,” ob- 
served Zorndorff ; “ perhaps y T ou v r ould like 
to have them also.” 

“What, Virginie?” exclaimed Rupert. 

“ Virginie ,” said Zorndorff, with some em- 
phasis. 

“ I must send an express to Exfort direct- 
ly,” cried Rupert, ringing the bell; “ and,” he 
continued, turning to Melanie, “as the De 
Rubignys will probably come with the Belle- 
gardes, you may say that we 'shall send a 
carriage for these magnetic men.” 

Melanie went with him into another room 
to write ; Zorndorff joined the President, who 
just then entered, and walked up and down 
the large apartment with him in grave dis- 
course ; Cyrilla, left alone, turned into the 
balcony, and, leaning against the balustrades, 
indulged in a long and earnest reverie. Her 
youthful face had the unusual expression of 
deep sadness, and, if the truth must be told, 
she at that moment felt herself oppressed by 
“ a world of woe and sorrow.” She did not 
attempt to analyze her feelings — it would 
have been difficult to have done so; for sur- 
prise, wounded pride, irritation, and grief, 
struggled for pre-eminence, until disappoint- 
ment of the bitterest description took posses- 
sion of her mind. She had gone to meet 
Count Zorndorff with a heart beating violent- 
ly’ from joyful expectation, and he had scarce- 
ly lookedat her, scarcely answered her, had 
been indifferent, cold, almost glacial. She 


CYRILLA. 


41 


worried herself endeavouring to mnl out the 
cause of so unexpected a cl ange of manner 
until the lamps were lit, when she left the 
balcony, and, taking a book, seated herselt at 
a distant table, and made the most violent 
efforts to be deaf to the sound of perambu- 
lating feet, and to concentrate her thoughts, 
through the medium of her eyes, on the pages 
before her — in vain. The words conveyed no 
meaning to her mind, and even while slie^read 
them, Zorndorff ’s figure as he had listlessly 
leaned against the glass door, was ever offi- 
ciously presenting itself. Slowly she laid 
down the volume, and reluctantly drew a 
iece of work towards her ; for her fingers 
aving been chiefly employed in acquiring 
mechanical dexterity on the keys of a piano- 
forte, and in the nice management of a pencil 
or paint-brush, she "was but an indifferent 
embroiderer; nevertheless, like all her female 
acquaintance, she had an astonishing piece 
of work in progress, and, on the present oc- 
casion at least, had reason to agree with Ba- 
con in thinking it pleasant to have “ a lively 
work upon a lightsome ground.” 

Perhaps the only time when a woman can 
justly rejoice in being a woman, is on an oc- 
casion like the foregoing, In moments of 
mental uneasiness, or even mental pain, the 
alleviation given by a needle is indescribable : 
it seems to possess a sort of magnetic power 
in drawing the cares from the brain to itself; 
and even when its motions are uselessly em- 
ployed, the mere effort to direct it generally 
distracts the mind or occupies the thoughts 
so effectually, that it produces in very expert 
and very indifferent workwomen precisely 
the same result. The flower over which Cy- 
rilla now bent her graceful head assumed a 
most fanciful form. It may have been ori- 
ental, and have possessed a mysterious mean- 
ing — in the German flora it could not be 
found; and Rupert, on his return, as he 
leaned over her chair, compared it without 
circumlocution to the wonderful flowers on 
the ball-room gallery. 

“I believe you are right,” said C} T rilla, 
smiling, as she held it at a little distance; 
“ I have, as usual, made some stupid mistake 
in counting the stitches. I wish I could 
work like Adrienne de Beilegarde, or Julia 
de Lindesmar.” 

“ Have they become particular friends of 
yours ? ” demanded Rupert. 

“Not exactly — but they are the gayest 
people in Exfort ; and every bod\ r knows, or 
wishes to know them. They are rather free, 
or French, as they call it, in their manners.” 

After a pause, Rupert observed, “Madame 
de Bellegarde’s sister has arrived from Italy, 
and will probably be here to-morrow.” 

“The Vicomtesse de Rubignv, is it not?” 
asked Cyrilla, beginning to pick out the pe- 
tals of her fancy flower. 

“Yes.” 

“I am rather curious to see her,” she con- 
tinued, “for she must strangely resemble nie 
in voice and manner.” 

“In voice extremely,” said Rupert, a little 
embarrassed, “ in manner not at ail; it is only 
a harebrained fellow such as I am who could 
for a moment have mistaken one for the other 


— the room was dark, and I was at the time 
in ..daily expectation of seeing her.” 

“ W ere you ? ” said Cyrilla, leaning back in 
her chair, and looking up at him : “ she is 
handsome, I suppose?” 

“N — o, I believe not.” 

“Not plain, surely? ” 

“Oh no!” 

“Well, what is she then? ” 

“Interesting-looking.” 

“And is she amusing, talkative like her 
sisters ? ” 

“She is not — talkative.” 

“ Nor you either, this evening,” said Cyril- 
la, rising just in time to hear Zorndorff say 
to Melanie : — 

“ I should like to see the whole house : vou 
know I have a great fancy for furniture and 
every thing of that kind. I know a great 
deal more about the castle at Windhorst than 
Adlerkron does.” 

“That’s quite true,” said Rupert. “Fancy 
his counting the windows tjiere one fine 
morning, and telling me I did not deserve to 
possess such a place, because I did not know 
how many openings had been made in the 
walls to admit the light of day.” 

“I recommend his waiting for the light of 
day to inspect Freilands,” observed the Presi- 
dent, “ and think, if he mean to return home 
to-niglit, the sooner he sets out on his walk 
the better.” 

“ I can look at the house,” said Zorndorff, 

“ and drink tea with you too before I leave, 
ns there is moonlight. Come, aunt Melanie, 
you must be my cicerone.” 

“You will not require much time,” said 
Rupert, “ for the hall, staircase, these rooms, 
and the ball-room, are affine worth looking 
at — the wings have only a ground floor ; one 
belongs to the President and my cousins, the 
other, with the breakfast and dining-room, is 
intended for visiters. You will find a room 
ready for you if you choose to occupy it.” 

“Not just to-night — but perhaps ” 

“ Come,” said Melanie, “you shall first see 
Rupert’s rooms, as the} T are a continuation oi 
these.” 

“ Don't forget to show him the beautifully 
inlaid pistols,” said Cyrilla, as they were 
leaving the room. 

Zorndorff stopped for a moment, and ob- 
served, “I suppose Adlerkron has been per- 
forming some of his extraordinary feats with 
a pistol for you. A man’s life would not be 
worth much who was to meet him in a 
duel.” 

“I don’t know that,” said Rupert, pushing 
a chair towards Cyrilla; “shooting at a mark 
and firing at a man are very different things.” 

“Do you shoot so very well?” asked Cy- 
rilla, turning to him. 

“ Yes, but we are not going to talk of that * 
now — I w r ant to tell you about the pony-car 
riage that wiii be here the day after to-mt>r- 
row.” 

“Oh how good-natured of you, in the midst 
of all your arrangements here, to remember 
that I said I should like to have a pony-car- 
nage.” 

“I remembered that you said ffiu should 
like to learn to drive, and and l lik« 


C YRILL A. 


1*1 

very much the idea of teaching you. Are 
you courageous ? ” 

“Not very; I rather hope the ponies may 
be very quiet.” 

He believed — he was almost sure they 
were steady — she would like the drives in 
the wood when the weather was warm ; but 
some morning early she must go to the moor 
— the most interesting though worthless part 
of Freilands — but he had extensive plans for 
the improvement of it — he would show her a 
map, and explain how in twenty or thirty 
years the whole marsh could be made arable 
land. 

The President looked over his book, raised 
his eyebrows, and drew his mouth into a 
more significant than becoming grimace, 
while the cousins pored over the map toge- 
ther, their blonde curling hair so exactly the 
same colour that, at a little distance, the two 
neads appeared like one. 

Nearly an hour elapsed before Melanie re- 
turned ; when she did so, she was alone. 
“Edouard,” she said, “had thought it better 
to return home before midnight.” 

“Unsociable fellow!” exclaimed Rupert, 
“ there is no use in trying to be intimate or 
friendly with him ; he repulses all advances, 
though he has told me more than a dozen 
times that our fates are mysteriously linked 
together, and that we can never long remain 
asunder.” 

“ Did he ? Where did he hear that ? ” asked 
Melanie with an appearance of the deepest 
interest. 

“A few years ago he discovered some 
wonderful man — an astrologer — who drew a 
scheme of his horoscope. lie wanted to have 
mine too, but I refused to tell him any parti- 
culars concerning the day and hour of my 
birth. I heard afterwards he took the trou- 
ble to make the necessary inquiries of my 
uncle.” 

“ And you never questioned him ? ” 

“Never.” 

“Do you mean to say,” asked Cyrilla, 
“ that you did not feel an}^ curiosity ? ” 

“No, I don’t mean to say that ; but I am 
more than inclined to doubt the power of 
any one to augur or predict from the con- 
junction of stars at the hour of birth ; and I 
am .quite convinced that the knowledge of 
our future in this world is denied us for a 
good purpose, and is certainly conducive to 
our happiness.” 

“But,” hesitated Melanie, “but you don’t 
think it — absolutely — irreligious, having 
one’s horoscope ? ” 

“He has told you plainly,” said the Presi- 
dent, locking up suddenly, “that he considers 
it useless and — foolish ; and he is right, for 
tampering with one’s happiness is folly.” 

Melanie shrank, as she always did, from 
the probably unintentional harshness of the 
President, and became silent; the subject 
was one that Rupert disliked; Cyrilla was 
indifferent and preoccupied ; and the conver- 
sation continued very desultory until the 
party separated for the night. 

Cyrilla was still sitting at an open window 
in her room, when she heard a gentle knock 
at the door, and immediately after Melanie 


stood before her in a long whi e role, with a 
taper in her hand. 

“ Enter, Lady Macbeth ! ” said Cyrilla, smil- 
ing faintly, while she turned towards her 
without moving from the low chair near tlie 
window, where she had been sitting motion- 
less for more than half-an-hour. “Are you 
walking in your sleep ? or has the President 
got an express from Exfort ? ” 

“Neither,” answered Melanie. “The fact 
is, Cyrilla,” she continued, extinguishing her 
taper, and then walking uneasily up and 
dow the room, “ the fact is, I must speak to 
you — must tell }'ou something — must get 
your assistance ” 

“ Tf your manner were not so very really 
serious,” said Cyrilla, “I should imagine }’ou 
were about to disclose some grand secret 
about to-morrow’s festivities.” 

“ O, I am not thinking of to-morrow ; I can 
only think of one thing now. Tell me, Cy- 
rilla,” she cried, stopping suddenly before 
her, “ you — you don’t — no, I know you don’t 
— care at all for Edouard ? ” 

“ That would be unpardonable,” answered 
Cyrilla, “ after all the trouble you have taken 
to make me like him.” 

“But I mean, you don’t particularly like 
him?” 

“Yes I do. I like talking to him better 
than to any one I know when I feel disposed 
to be rational — Rupert is more amusing and 
cheerful, but ” 

“Ah! — exactly — that’s just the sort of an- 
swer I wished for,” said Melanie. “Now, 
dear, onty imagine,” she continued, drawing 
a chair close to her sister’s, “only imagine — 
Edouard has had the folly — the madness — 
after all my good advice and warnings, to — 
to fall desperately in love with you? Did 
you ever know anything so distressing ? ” 

“ Dreadful ! ” said Cyrilla, with a smile of 
such perfect satisfaction, that nothing but her 
sister’s pre-occupation could have prevented 
her from observing it. 

“He came here this evening,” continued 
Melanie, “to tell me that the short separation 
of ten or twelve days had convinced him that 
he could only live in your presence — that all 
his ambitious projects had become worthless 
in liis eyes — that he heard your voice in every 
breeze, saw your face in every — every ” 

“What? ” asked Cyrilla, with a gay laugh. 

“No matter. I see you are disposed to 
laugh and be merry as usual. I hope, how- 
ever, you will have the kindness to aid my 
endeavours to cure him of his unfortunate 
passion, by showing him your indifference 
and dislike in the plainest manner.” 

“But I neither feel the one nor the other,” 
said Cyrilla. 

“Then you must feign both for his good.” 

“No, dear, I should rather not,” said Cy - 
rilla, with considerable decision of manner. 

“I could almost think our poor Edouard's 
sufferings gave you pleasure,” cried Melanie, 
petulantly; “and, laugh as you will, he Ins 
suffered, and greatly too. You must have 
perceived how ill he looks.” 

“lie does look ill,” answered C\ rilla, forc- 
ing her features into as serious an expvasiei 
as the exultation of Tier feelings at the- 


menfc would permit, “bat I supposed the long 
hot walk might have ” 

“No, no, no, no! He wanted at once to 
see and speak to you. Fortunately, you were 
in the music-room with Rupert, and he de- 
cided on consulting rne. I confess I could not 
restrain some tears of sympathy, for I know 
too welt what it is to sacrifice love on the al- 
tar of necessity ! ” 

“Dear Melanie!” said Cyrilla; and every 
particle of gaiety forsook her manner as she 
lightly laid her hand on her sister’s shoulder, 
and looked into her large black eyes as they 
filled with the slowly gathering tears of mel- 
ancholy recollection. 

“ I listened to all he had to say,” contin- 
* ued Melanie, “ and when he talked rationally 
of devoting himself to his profession, and 
living contentedly, as others have done and 
others will do, and added that he had no 
doubt of rising rapidly in it, and being in 
time able to satisfy the reasonable wishes of 
any reasonable woman, I felt strongly in- 
clined to say, ‘You are right, Edouard. If 
happiness be attainable in this world, it is 
only to be found in the society of a being 

with whom we find congeniality of mind 
} » ' 

“And,” whispered Cyrilla, bending down 
her head that her sister might not see the 
smile which again played round her mouth, 
“and a mysterious combination of spirits!” 

“Yes,” said Melanie, by no means uncon- 
scious of her sister’s irony. “ Yes, so I would 
nave spoken had the object of his affection 
oeen other than you ; but knowing that it 
was on you that he had bestowed this warm- 
est feeling of his noble heart, I was oliged to 
answer as you would have done.” 

“Your answer?” cried Cyrilla quickly, 
and with an anxiety she made no efforts to 
conceal. 

“It was prosaic in the extreme. T said 
that if he talked in that way to you, you 
would laugh at him ! ” 

“ Did you ? ” said Cyrilla, biting her lip 
and breathing quickly, while 3he pulled and 
puckered the trimming of her dressing-gown 
with great diligence ; “and then ? ” 

“ And then I told him how carefully and , 
rationally you had been educated, and what 
pains your mother had taken to prevent your 
having any romantic ideas on the subject of 
marriage; and though you might not alto- 
gether agree with her, still ” 

“ Really, Melanie,” cried Cyrilla, with ill- 
concealed impatience, ‘‘the manner in which 
you inform everybody that my mother is 
worldly, and that lam looking for an eligible 

partiy is is most provoking! I wonder 

that your own feelings of delicacy do not 
prevent you from talking in this manner of 
yuur nearest relations ! ” 

“Edouard is also a relation, and I do not 
thiuk I have any r;glit from a mistaken no- 
uon of delicacy, to endanger his peace of 
mind or f it lire happiness.” 

“And is my peace of mind and future hap- 
piness not worth taking into consideration? ” 
asked Cyrilla reproachfully. 

“I knpw that neither is in danger, for 
aven snpp sing that you liked Edouard, the 


I fear of poverty would soon stiile the impm 
dent affection.” 

“You forget that I have never known 
anything but poverty since I was born,” ob- 
served CyTilla. 

“ Why, yes, and it was a luxurious kind 
of poverty ; for, after all, you always had 
everything just like other people.” 

“ True,” answered Cyrilla, “ but mv father 
was constantly in debt, and I should have 
preferred feeling absolute want to hearing 
of bills unpaid, and seeing my mother wast- 
ing away from care and anxiety.” 

“ Edouard never had never will have 

a debt,” said Melanie ; “be is too proud to 
endure anything of that kind. He may wish 
for riches — be discontented if lie do not pos- 
sess them, but he will undoubtedly live 
within whatever income he may have.” 

“ In that case,” said Cyrilla, “ he can, aa 
lie said himself, ‘ satisfy the reasonable de- 
sires of any reasonable woman ; ’ and I hope, 
dear Melanie, considering the care with which 
you seem to think I have been educated, you 
will allow me to take it for granted that I 
am a reasonable woman ? ” 

“You?” 

“ Yes ; the surprise you exhibit is not very 
flattering, but still ” 

“I don’t quite understand,” cried Melanie, 
in some alarm. “You don’t mean to say 
that you would think of marrying Edou- 
ard ? ” 

“Suppose,” said Cyrilla, with a slight 
laugh ; “ suppose I had discovered the con- 
geniality of mind of which you have so of- 
ten spoken, and the the ” She 

stopped in a state of embarrassment, and 
blushing 'with an intenseness very unusual 
to her. 

“ Good heavens ! ” exclaimed Melanie, “ yon 
surely do not mean to sa}’ that yon love 
him ? ” / 

“ I don’t mean to say anything,” answered 
Cyrilla, covering her face with her hands 
and bending down her head; “but I believe 
I feel more than I need tell you or any one 
else.” . 

Melanie rose, and again walked up anc 
down the room. “ Cyrilla, this will never 
do,” she exclaimed at length. . “ Never — 
never — never. All your relations will raise 
objections. Your aunt will never consent to 
your union with Edouard — she quarrelled 
with his father, and ” 

“ 0, I know- all about that,” said Cyrilla, 
“and have not the least intention of ever 
asking her consent.” 

“But you forget, dear girl, that she is the 
only person who could, in any way, be of use 
to you on such an occasion.” 

“She will never be of use to me, or to any 
one else,” rejoined Cyrilla. 

“ And then. Wilhelm — he would be outra- 
geous, — would not listen to Edouard for a 
moment.” 

“ L imagine Count Zorndorff is not likely 
to consult the President,” said Cyrilla; “he 
is of an age to judge for himself; and having 
commenced his bureaucratic career, is inde 
pendent — even in bis poverty ” 

• “ I have nothing more to say ” almost 


C Y RILL A. 




U 

whispered Melanie. M If you indeed love as 
I once did ” 

“A little more, I suspect,” said Cyrilla, 
quickly ; “ for no Count Falkenstein, — no one 
on earth, — could induce me to sacrifice my 
love on the altar of necessity.” 

“ What a disagreeable habit you and Ru- 
pert have of remembering and repeating 
<wy words,” said Melanie, with some irrita- 
tion. 

“You ought to be flattered at our doing 
so ; it is a . proof that they arc uncommon, 
and worth recollecting.” 

- “ Cyril la, I have but one thing more to 
say. v Do not let Wilhelm know or even sus- 
pect any engagement with Edouard, should 
you enter into one.” 

“My dear Melanie, you have said so much 
to Count Zorndorlf about my rational educa- 
tion, — have presented him such a disagree- 
able picture of a heartless worldly girl, that 
I think it more than jn’obable he will let the 
matter rest for ever. I have read and heard 
of men who have required less to induce 
them to resign women better and wiser than 
1 am.” 

“ O, I have only to give him the slightest 
hint,” began Melanie. 

“Never,” cried Cyrilla, springing from her 
chair with a vehemence in strong contrast to 
her usual gentle movements; “never, to him 
or to any one, hint or in any way refer to 
what has passed between us this night. 
Nothing would have tempted me to speak to 
you as I have done, had it not been absolute- 
ly necessary to disabuse your mind of the 
erroneous idea you have formed of my char- 
acter and sentiments.” 

“I wish,” said Melanie, “I had known this 
sooner.” 

“ Perhaps it is all for the best,” replied 
Cyrilla. “ Count ZorUdorff can undoubtedly 
marry more advantageously; and yet I can- 
not ‘tell you,” she added, snatching her hand- 
kerchief from the toilet-table, and hastily 
drawing it across her eyes, “I cannot tell 
you how foolishly rejoiced I feel at what I 
have just heard from you.” 

“Who. . . . . .” exclaimed Melanie, clasping 
her hands, “ who would have suspected this, 
after hearing you laugh and jest on all such 
subjects with Rupert ? ” 

“And do you imagine that we have no 
feeling, because we do not talk sentimental- 
ly? Believe me, Melanie, people often laugh 
at and pretend incredulity in love, just as 
they do about ghost stories ; all the while 
believing and fearing in spite of them- 
selves. ” 

“O' no, Cyrilla; if you had had my ex- 
perience, you would think differently. A 
woman perhaps may speak in that way to 
conceal feelings that education forbids her 
to exhibit; but, believe me, a man’s jest on 
bucIi a subject is bitter earnest. Well have 
the ancients represented Love as a child — it 
ought to be treated as such — tenderly — con- 
aiderately, not laughed at — irritated — brow- 
beaten!’ 1 ^ 

“ I’m I never meant to do anything 
of the kiui,” said Cvrilla, with a demure 

nraile. 


“But others have,” said Melanie, looking 
upwards; “ and never can. I ferget the cry- 
ing at the Bellegardes, when Edouard 
so charmingly on this very subject. We 
were speaking of German legends; and you 
may remember how he said that tl^ey could 
be traced teethe German mythology, and how 
that had been' mixed up with tbs Roman, 
as the Roman with the Grecian, .but that all 
the fables of all mythologies contained very 
good systems of morals, if people would only 
take the trouble of studying them. He gave 
several examples, which were both ingenious 
and amusing ; and, among other things, said 
that Cupid had been represented as a child, 
and generally a youug child, in order to points 
out what patience we should have with his 
perverseness, violence, or instability.” 

“Yes,” said Cyrilla; “I remember also 
Adrienne de Bellegarde getting into a sort 
of ecstasy, and saying that Count Zorndorft 
deserved to be kissed for Lb; dear funny 

thoughts I think, too, he requested 

her to kiss him if she felt the slightest incli- 
nation ” 

“ Yes, I believe we laughed at her a good 
deal,” said Melanie, “ and said that was the 
only of his thoughts she had been able 
to understand ; but you are sleepy, and to- 
morrow will be a fatiguing day for us.” 

“Not for me,” said Cyrilla, “as I have 
only to amuse myself. I wish it were come 

“And how much has the desire to see 
Edouard again to do with your wish? ” 

“ More than I should like to tell yon, or 
even to confess to myself,” answered Cyrilla, 
sighing ;“ and now, good-night.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Rupert’s invitations to his dejeuner-diner had 
been so very general and comprehensive, and 
the anxiety of the inhabitants of Exfort so 
great to take advantage of such an opportu- 
nity of inspecting the improvements and new 
furniture at Freilands, that a large propor- 
tion of the company began to arrive with 
what Melanie called unconscionable exacti- 
tude, that is, before she was ready to receive 
them; but in the meantime there were gar- 
dens to look at, and shady walks to wander 
in, and bands of music and tents, and when 
they had walked about, and looked at every- 
thing and everybodj", they began quietly 
and at first imperceptibly to separate into 
classes. The creme de la creme , who con- 
sidered themselves Melanie’s intimate friends, 
unhesitatingly entered the house, took pos- 
session of the large balcony, and, secure 
from the sun’s rays under the awning, lei- 
surely inspected, through their single and 
double lorgnettes, the remaining and larger 
portion of the company, as they walked in 
groups under the trees, — they being, if we 
may continue to pursue the meaning of this 
truly German and pastoral metaphor, the milk, 
which had subsided, and let its lighter part,tl e 
cream, rise. Now, in the town of Exfort, as in 
all other towns, there was a quantity of aduk 


C YRILL A 


41 


lerated cream, whether composed by a 
mixture of noxious or innoxious ingredients 
none but a chemist, or a very nice observer, 
could tell ; but a good deal of this descrip- 
tion of cream, viz. a considerable number of 
very well dressed and exceedingly discon- 
tented men and women now began to spread 
themselves before the house, equally afraid 
of the reception which they might receive 
were they to venture to mount the stairs, 
and 'Of the loss of caste which would inevit- 
ably ensue should they enjoy themselves un- 
restrainedly with the others where they 
were. Rupert, who could not, or would not, 
understand any of these distinctions, appear- 
ed among them, and immediately proposed 
their entering. They looked at the balcony, 
then at each other, and stood irresolute, until 
Cyrilla, who better understood the state of 
the case, added, “ perhaps you would like to 
look at my cousin’s collection of arms and 
pipes. I assure you,” she continued, as they 
all began to pour into the hall, “I assure you 
the pipes are worth looking at, — I believe 
the most of them are souvenirs; there are 
meerschaums in every possible form, and 
carved wood, and some of china, with such 
beautiful paintings on them, that if they did 
not smell of tobacco, I should have stolen 
them long ago.” 

While the now gay and satisfied guests 
wandered through the rooms, Cyrilla saw 
from one of the windows the President’s 
carriage drive under the portico. While still 
considering whether or not his nephew had 
arrived with him, Zorndorft passed quickly 
through the room, overseeing her in the 
crowd of ignoble persons by w T hom she was 
surrounded, and entered the balcony, where 
he was received w r ith a sort of acclamation 
by the Bellegaraes and their companions. 
She had not thought of how she should re- 
ceive him — had merely been conscious of an 
undefined feeling of anxiety, and a sort of 
curiosity to know how he would act. The 
apparent continuation of his conduct of the 
evening before was irritating enough, but 
her conversation with Melanie had removed 
all doubts from her mind, and she turned 
away, merely resolving to leave him in vain 
expectation of her appearance on the balcony 
or in the adjacent rooms for a longer time 
than he might perhaps desire. 

Rupert’s laudable endeavours to banish 
ceremony, by allowing every one to choose 
their own place at the numerous and per- 
fectly similar tables, had been tolerably suc- 
cessful. Pleasure and expectation lighted 
every countenance; and the party round 
each consisted generally* of friends or ac- 
quaintances who had sought each other, and 
were more than usually united by a common 
r eeling of hunger. Rupert took possession 
cf a place beside Cyrilla, which she had un- 
reservedly said belonged to him. 

“What would I not give for your light 
heart, Adlerkron 1 ” said Zorndorff, as he was 
passing to the place vis a vis . “ No sooner 

have you lost one object of interest than you 
find another, ’’and he glanced significantly from 
Cyrilla to the Vicomtease de Rubigny, who 
was sitting at the same table, wir'd e he spoke. 


“ I don’t understand you,’' said Rupert, 
carelessly, and then continued his conversa- 
tion with Cyrilla, as unconscious as she was 
conscious that Zorndorff’s eyes were fixed on 
them both with an expression of such anx- 
ious interest that even Melanie, who waa 
not usually very observant, remarked it ; 
and, fearing others might do the same, tried 
to engage his attention. 

“ Edouard, have you heard what Professor 
Huber has been saying ? ” 

. “ N — o ; not exactly, I believe.” 

“ I am so sorry, as it was just what you 
wanted to know abtfut magnetic manipula- 
tion.” 

“ Ah indeed ! ” 

“ And then he has visited Justinus Ker- 
nel’.” 

“ I was at Weinsberg just after the Coun- 
tess Falkenstein left,” said the Professor; 
“but I dare not tell you,” he added blandly, 
again turning to Melanie, “I dare not tell 
you all that that most amiable of poets and 
men said of the charming and talented ac- 
quaintance he had just made.” 

“I spent several most happy days in the 
neighbourhood of Weinsberg,” said Melanie ; 

“ Kernel’ surpassed all my expectations. 
There is an abyss of poetry and fervour in his 
dark eyes. He is a phenomenon that we 
must endeavour to retain in ail its pure origi- 
nality, for the world is becoming every day 
more and more prosaic and philosophical. 
The time may come when the existence of 
such a man may be doubted he is al- 

ready incomprehensible to many.” 

“ Do tell me something about this Kerner,” 
said Cyrilla in a low voice to Rupert ; “ who 
is he ? ” 

“A man who has written a good deal 
about the sayings and doings of ghosts and 
goblins, and aboat sausages being poisonous 
and people -won’t believe him/ 

“Nonsense, Rupert! .... I really wish lo 
know something of him ; Melanie has talked 
of nothing else all day.” 

“ Of course not, as her head is full of mag 
netism and the magnetizer. The fact is, this 
Justinus Kerner is, I believe, a very amiable 
man, a physician, and a poet ; also, the au- 
thor of a work called ‘The Somnambulist of 
Prevorst,’ in which 'he describes the visions 
of a — a — a — thorough-bred somnambulist. 

He has besides written some very 

what shall I call them? — genuine lyrical 
poems.” 

“You may well say so! ” cried the Pro- 
fessor, enthusiastically; “they are perfect, 
full of feeling, beautiful ! Pain and pleasure 
flow like turbulent and gentle streams through 
the lines; the ideas are striking, and in the 
expression of melancholy he is inimitable.” 

“ But,” whispered Cyrilla, “ is this poet the 
same man who believes in ghosts ? ” 

“Yes, and they (I mean the ghosts) will 
make him immortal, I suspect. His ‘Som- 
nambulist’ may not be read, his poems may 
be forgotten, but that a man of learning and 
genius should, in the face of the world, de- 
clare himself the champion of the very com- 
monest and most popular description of ghosts 
and apparitions, is such an anomaly as must 


dd 


C Y R I L L A. 


ensure him lame ; and he deserves it, too, if 
it wend only for his moral courage.” 

“O, how you would admire him, did you 
but know him ! ” cried Melanie. 

“Very likely,” answered Rupert, “as a 
humane and excellent man, and an agreeable 
poet and companion; but he would never 
make me believe in gray shadowy figures, 
with burning eyes, and all that sort of thing. 
However, this is scarcely a fit place to dis- 
cuss such subjects. With champagne in our 
glasses, and pate de foie gras on our plates, 
who can think of ghosts ? ” 

“ For my part,” said Cyrilla, “ I greatly 
prefer discussing and thinking of them in a 
crowded room, and with champagne in my 
glass, to any other place or in any other 
way.” 

“ Y r ou are not afraid in the dark, like Me- 
lanie, are you ? ” 

“No ; but I don’t like hearing odd noises 
and rustlings in my room at night.” 

“Perhaps she is sensitive cried Melanie, 
eagerly. 

“ Oh,” said Cyrilla, colouring a good deal, 

“ don’t imagine that I believe my dead friends 
or acquaintances can appear to me! Do 
you ? ” 

“ I believe they can,” answered Melanie, 
solemnly, “ if I were capable of seeing them.” 

“But,” said Rupert, “it is not even neces- 
sary to be a friend or acquaintance ; dead 
strangers appear sometimes, requesting com- 
miseration for their unhappy state, or for the 
purpose of relating some interesting family 
history .... or murder .... ghosts are the 
greatest gossips imaginable.” 

“ And you really and truly believe this ? ” 
said Cyrilla, turning to her sister. 

“ I believe that those persons who die with- 
out having been very wicked, but yet having 
so little religious feeling that they are not fit 
for heaven, are in a certain degree still bound 
to the earth. I think their spirits float in the 
air around us until they are prepared for a 
better world.” 

“Some must float a confoundedly long 
Vime, I suspect,” murmured Rupert ; but even 
w r hile he spoke, he looked merrily towards 
Melanie, raised his champagne glass, and 
slightly bowed. 

“ A most disagreeable idea,” said Cyrilla ; 

1 1 now don’t wonder at her being afraid to re- 
main in a room alone.” 

“The belief in the apparitions of living 
friends is much more agreeable,” observed 
Rupert. 

“But«do not such apparitions denote that 
the person who appears will soon be num- 
bered among the dead ? ” asked Cyrilla. 

“Not necessarily; that idea has rather 
gone out of fashion, ayd the newest discove- 
ries have proved these apparitions to be ema- 
nations from the nerves. They are now 
known by the name of nervous spirits : ask 
Melanie.” 

But Melanie was talking earnestly in a 
low voice to Zoindorff, and did not hear the 
appeal. 

“0, Rupert, I think you are inventing,” 
■Ariel Cyrilla. 

“Not in the least, I assure you. For U- 


stance, suppose I feel an earnest desire, a des 
perate longing to see you, my nervous spirit, 
or the spirit of my nerves, releases itself from 
my long legs and body, and I appear to you 
as a gray shadow, or even with the colors ol 
life, according to your capability for discern- 
ing apparitions ; my appearance under such 
circumstances does not make it necessary 
that I should die the first convenient oppor- 
tunity afterwards ; but I believe I must be 

ill, or in a delicate state of health, or 

no you must be ill, or nervous, or 

something of that kind, in order to be able 
to see me. Let us ask Melanie; she will be 
delighted to explain, if we have time and 
patience to listen to the exordium.” 

Melanie was once more appealed to ; and 
though at first unwilling to speak, a few ju- 
dicious questions from Rupert, asked in a se- 
rious information-seeking manner, joined to 
the entreaties of the Bellegardes, at length 
prevailed, and lowering her voice that it 
might not reach her husband’s ears, she be- 
gan : “There was a time when I also thought 
a disbelief of ghosts, or a disavowal of any 
belief I might occasionally feel, a matter of 
necessity — a proof of a certain degree of cul- 
tivation of mind I am not ashamed to 

acknowledge that that time is past, that 1 
have grown humbler, and am now ready to 
believe things to be probable and possible 
which were formerly to me as well as to oth- 
ers unceasing subjects of ridicule.” 

“ Charmante, charmante, coniine elle 
parle! ” exclaimed the Vicomte de Rubigny, 
really charmed with her animated counte- 
nance, but totally unable to follow in Ger 
man the sense of what she was saying. 

“How often,” continued Melanie, “have 
occurrences which appeared incredible prov- 
ed in the end natural phenomena! ” 

“ 0, we are quite ready to believe any 
thing of that kind,” said Rupert; “tell us 
something about the apparitions of living 
people.” 

“You must agree with me in some other 
things first,” said Melanie, smiling. “ Allow 
that there are few human beings who have 
not, in the course of their lives, had a pro- 
phetic dream, a warning, or at least made 
use of some sympathetic remedy, which is 
equivalent to an acknowledgment of a beKef 
in its efficacy.” ' 

“ But such tilings have nothing to do will 
apparitions,” said Rupert. 

“ I think they have : these dreams, warn 
ings, remedies, come under the denomination 
of popular superstitions, which you accuse 
Kerner of reviving.” 

“You never can forgive my having said 

* that Kerner’s spectres were bad style 

■ decidedly vulgar ! ” 

“Kerner has not invented,” rejoined Mela* 
r me, “ he has related simply what he heard. 

: No one doubts that he could have easily made 
a more interesting and poetical narrative of 
i his / Somnambulist,’ had be been so dispo^- 
> ed ; but he preferred conscientiously writing 
down her very words, and as she could have 
’ no motive for deceiving him, why should 
not believe her visions, when there is n< tilling 
- in them that may not be reconciled with th« 


CYRILLA, 


47 


most sublime conceptions that religion can 
form of a world of spirits, for instance that 
dark state of those wandering ghosts ” 

‘‘Never mind thetn, dear Melanie,” said 
.Rupert, “but come to the apparitions — the 
emanations from our nerves that waft our 
presence, as you so beautifully express it, 
like the perfume of a flower, to those at a 

distance from us all the while we 

and the flowers yielding our emanations w ith- 
out diminution of size and colour.” 

“I knew you intended to laugh at me 
” began Melanie ; but at that mo- 
ment a carriage drove rapidly past the open 
windows ; and on her recognizing it as one of 
Rupert’s she whispered: “It is the magneti- 
zer ; I believe I ought to go to him.” 

“That would be very kind of you,” said 
Rupert; “and,” he added, detaining her a 
mdment as she passed him, “if you want my 
assistance for any of the wonders to be per- 
formed, I promise not to betray you for six 
whole weeks.” 

“ Incorrigible unbeliever ! ” she answered, 
laughing. “If there were any juggling in 
the business, you would be sure to make a 
blunder to procure a laugh ; but there is none. 
Edouard says they require nothing but an 
arm-chair, a table and cards.” 

“Still I think I might make myself useful 
in giving hints or winks in a quiet sort of 
way. I assure you I am not such a donkey 
as you suppose.” 

“Just don’t you concern yourself at all 
about this matter,” said Melanie, “but fol- 
low me with these people as soon as they 
have done eating ices and bon-bons.” 

Although a belief in animal magnetism* 
was scarcely more prevalent in Germany tliair 
in England at that time, and notwithstanding 
the determined distrust with which people 
generally spoke of appearances not to be 
satisfactorily explained by any effort of the 
five sense?., the natural tendency of the Ger- 
man mind to indulge in close and subtle me- 
ditation, and to seize any subject likely to 
procure a field for sophistical disquisitions, 
made the appearance of the magnetizer be 
hailed almost with acclamation ; at least a 
noise beyond the sound of murmuring voices 
was heard, as the intelligence of his arrival 
spread from table to table, and room to room. 
The words magnetism, mesmerism, magnetic 
Bleep, visions, dec., <fcc., which became more 
and more audible, were uttered in every va- 
riety of tone, and with a sort of enthusiasm 
by most of the female part of the company ; 
for women are naturally inclined towards all 
that is mysterious and wonderful, and more 
prone to what gives free scope to conjecture 
than to what incites to investigation. These 
circumstances may have combined to create 
an interest in the magnetizer ; but the great- 
est incentive of all was fashion. The ap- 
pearance of Kerper’s work had just then 

r * The reader curious on such subjects is requested to 
bear in mind that in 1S31 the words “Animal Magnet- 
ism, ’ ifee., &c.j had not been pronounced incorrect by 
iteichenbaoh, nor had the new force called Odyle been 
discovered by him. We may, it is to be hoped, contin- 
ue to use the vords familiar to every one, until others 
equally xnnpy diensible or incomprehensible have been 
substituted. 


awakened the slumbering recollections of 
Mesmer and his followers ; the decision of 
the Societe de Medecine was forgotten; ac- 
counts of astonishing cures performed by 
somnambulists, and of extraordinary prophe- 
cies and visions, had reached the inhabitants 
of Exfort from time to time; the “Sphinx, 
or new Archive for Animal Magnetism,” was 

again read ; and now now, for the first 

time, a real somnambulist, and one, too, who 
had exhibited (that was the word used) with 
unbounded applause in the salons of Paris, 
was to perform for them ! It would have 
been difficult to have satisfied the expecta- 
tions of the assembly ; but “ after all,” as 
Rupert observed to Cyrilla, “it is of no 
importance, provided they can amuse them- 
selves until the ball-room be lighted.” 

The Salon became by degrees full — we 
must say by degrees, for Melanie’s friends, 
the creme de la creme , taking advantage of 
their intimacy, retired to her rooms to change 
their morning costumes for the lightest and 
freshest ball dresses imaginable, thereby, a3 
they intended, effectually distinguishing 
themselves from the rest of the company for 
the remainder of the evening. It is astonish- 
ing how much displeasure and annoyance 
this little stratagem caused, or how much it 
added to the unpopularity of the perpetra- 
tors of it. Among themselves much more 
unreserved and quite as good-natured and 
affectionate as other people, tlioy appeared 
to those who did not belong to their coterie, 
haughty, arrogant, heartless, and determined 
not to have anything in common with the 
rest of the society, of whom the younger fe 
mal^ part suddenly found their crape or chip 
bonnets intolerably heavy and warm, and an 
emigration to one of the remote apartments 
commenced, where several fantastic pyra- 
mids of them were hastily erected on the, 
sofas and chairs. Mothers and chaperones, 
after a few dissatisfied whispers, resigned 
themselves to the comforts of the broad elas- 
tic oauseuses or divans, and nodded their 
heads and plumed bonnets with persevering 
dignity. 

One group of men surrounded Zorndorff, 
another the President, and the different opin- 
ions for and against the belief in mesmeric 
sleep w'ere attacked and defended with wit 
and acuteness ; the result apparently being 
that the incredulous understanding remained 
in most cases deaf to all the offered meta- 
physical or mystical suggestions, and seemed 
determined to yield to nothing but palpable 
or ocular demonstration. 

At length Melanie appeared — digiiified, but 
evidently in a state bordering on beatitude. 
She was followed by the somnambulist, a 
very young, slight, pale, and gentleman-like 
man. lie spoke a few words to the magnet- 
izer, then seated himself in the chair placed 
for him in the middle of the room, and the 
business immediately commenced. In a few 
minutes he began to turn and twist himself 
uneasily, moved his arms, stretched out his 
legs, turned up his eyes until the white alone 
was visible, then rolled them lustreless 
around, and finally closed them altogether 
his body became quieter, and at length his 


C TRILL A. 


£8 

head found a resting-place against the veil 
stuffed side of the chair. The magnetizer 
now commenced a series of movements as if 
he were throwing something at him, and by 
means of these and the assistance of a good 
deal of friction, the left arm was put into a 
state of total inflexibility. The company 
were requested to compare the pulses of the 
two arms ; several persons did so, and de- 
clared that that of the left was almost extinct. 
The operations now commenced on the legs, 
which were put into a similar state of rigid- 
ity, and afforded the persons who chose 
to make the trial an apparently strong 
thojugh somewhat elastic seat. The sleeper 
seemed to suffer extremely during these ex- 
periments, and to feel a relief similar to an 
awakening from nightmare when they ceased. 

His eyes were then bound, and cards plac- 
ed on a table beside him. One partner suc- 
ceeded the other from the rows of eager spec- 
tators, and the game began after the players 
nad, by pressing his hand, given him a sign 
of sympatli}". The cards of the somnambu- 
list lay in a heap, yet he generally chose them 
judiciousty ; when he made a mistake, which 
did not often occur, trembling violently and 
becoming impatient ; but ke almost always 
won, and at last played A a distance, and 
turned away from his opponent. 

After tiie card-playing came the reading 
of closed or at least so folded letters that 
the contents were invisible, and many were 
read with extraordinary fluency. A few re- 
marks about the peculiarities of the manner 
of writing and orthography causing much 
amusement. All this finished exj&rtnees, 
however, failed to convince those predeter- 
mined not to believe, and their doubts were 
strengthened when a few more carefully 
folded papers seemed to puzzle the unfortu- 
nate being who had allowed himself to be 
exhibited for their amusement. 

Almost every one had written something,' 
and wished to have it read in order to re- 
move or confirm the doubts which they unre- 
servedly expressed. No one would believe 
the testimony of another, so great was the 
fear of being imposed on. To this murmur- 
ing multitude were opposed a small and reso- 
lute band of enthusiasts, who would not 
listen to an expression of suspicion or hesita- 
tion, and appeared quite overpowered by 
astonishtnent and admiration at every well- 
played card and every line that was correctly 
deciphered. 

At length the company began to crowd 
. round the somnambulist and overwhelm him 
with questions, the answers to which, like 
those of the oracles of old, admitted of vari- 
ous interpretations ; but the President, who 
had at first looked on with rigid attention, 
now began to exhibit some impatience ; he 
approached Melanie, and whispered authori- 
tatively, “We have had enough of this tri- 
fling, put an end to it as soon as you can ! ” 
then turning to Professor Huber, who was 
standing near him. he observed, “I have 
seen these useless performances with cards 
and letters with a good deal less pleasure 
than those of an expert juggler. I wish to 
be surprised by the juggler, and make little 


or no effort to undersU“d w.<al I see; here I 
try to understand, and can do nothing but 
suspect charlatanry.” 

“I perceive your Excellency doubts the 
realities of magnetic relations and magnetie 
sleep ? ” 

“ I acknowledge myself incapable of giving 
an opinion,” answered the President. “The 
question embraces physiological and psycho- 
logical phenomena that deserve investigation ; 
but I prefer leaving the elucidation to met 
of science, and totally disapprove of working 
on the nerves or imagination of partially dis- 
eased bodies or minds for the purpose of satis- 
fying frivolous curiosity, or affording tempo- 
rary amusement.” 

Rupert, who had during the whole time 
looked on and listened with an attention that 
had both surprised and gratified Melanie, 
now walked towards her and whispered, 
“Extremely 'well got up; I am so much 
obliged to }^ou ! ” As she indignantly pre- 
pared to answer him, he moved away, and 
she was soon svfrrounded by those who either 
agreed with her in opinion, or deemed it 
necessary to say something civil, learned, 
or wise, on the occasion. 

There were also a select few, who nodded 
their heads, looked solemn, and came to the 
conclusion among themselves that the young 
man’s capabilities were not to be compared 
to those whose magnetic sleep came without 
the assistance of art. 

The sound of music from the ball-room put 
an end to all the discussions, and the rest of 
the evening was spent there. Zorndorff, 
though he scarcely ever danced, took advan- 
tage of Rupert’s being less at liberty than 
usual, and immediately engaged Cyrilla. A 
very few minutes sufficed to renew their in- 
timacy and good understanding. Without 
any explanation, he became precisely what 
he had been before she had quitted Exfort ; 
and, perfectly satisfied with her sister’s com- 
munication, she cared not how long the pre- 
sent state of pleasing perplexity continued. 

It was at a late, or rather early hour, that 
the last' carriage, containing the feellegardes, 
drove away. The President had retired to 
rest at his usual time ; and as Melanie, Cy- 
rilla, and Rupert passed together through 
the “ banquet-lialls deserted,” they discovered 
Zorndorff stretched bn one ot the stone 
benches in the balcony, apparently watching 
the gradual approach of day. 

“Handsome fellow!” observed Rupert in 
a low voice to his cousins ; what a pity it is 
he cannot or will not enjoy life like other 
people! Zorndorff,” he added, walking to- 
wards him, “you will find a better bed be- 
low stairs, and I recommend your trying it” 

“Thank you,” he replied, slowly rising; 
“ I intend to accept your often proffered hos- 
pitality for a few days. This house is too 
gay to be willingly changed for my lonely 
apartments.” 

“ That is the most sensible speech I have 
heard you make for a long time,” said Ru- 
pert. “ These dejeuners are famous things 
I should not have any objection to have one 
every week I * 


CYRILLA. 


CHAPTER X I Y. 

* I am sorry to perceive that Edouard is one 
j>f those people who make it a point never to 
be in time for breakfast,” observed the Presi- 
dent to Cyril la one morning as they met at 
an early hour. “ I almost expect lie will at 
last order his coffee to be taken to his room, 
that he may smoke as he does when at home. 
If he had been living in my house during his 
youth, he would never have acquired such 
habits.” 

‘‘And yet,” said Cyrilla, smiling, “you 
allow Melanie to breakfast in her room, and 
3 he has done so in your house for more than 
twelve years.” > 

“Twelve years and some months ; but let 
me tell you, Cyrilla, if she had begun this 
habit eleven years and some months ago, I 
should never have permitted it. Twelve years 
ago. Melanie was very young and very beau- 
tiful, and 1 was neither, but very much in 
love ; and consequently, for the time, an in- 
dulgent, idolizing fool 1 ” 

“ I cannot imagine } r ou very much in love,” 
said Cyrilla, as her eyes passed from the tall 
unpliant form, to the pale severe face, of her 
brother-in-law ; “in fact, I cannot fancy you 
at all in love.” 

“I am glad to hear it; as, from what I 
have just said, I may infer that you cannot 
imagine me a fool. But here comes Rupert; 
he has been up and out some hours. I do 
not know which is most to be admired — his 
active habits, or happy buo}mncy of tempera- 
ment.” 

“ I did not think that he was at all a per- 
son you would admire,” said Cyrilla. 

“ And what sort of person did you think I 
should admire $ ” 

Cyrilla felt his piercing eyes were upon 
her. She wished to name Zorndorff, but 
feared not being able to pronounce his name 
with sufficient indifference, so she remained 
silent; and, after waiting in vain for an an- 
swer, he continued — 

“ Yes, Cyrilla; I admire Rupert almost as 
much as I do you. I never saw two people 
more like in person, mind, and disposition, 
than you are.” 

“ Our relationship makes the resemblance 
very natural,” said Cyrilla, while she beckon- 
ed to Rupert, who just then perceived her. 

“The relationship might be nearer,” began 
he President. 

“ l wish it were,” said Cyrilla. 

“ Well, that’s candid,” he rejoined, with a 
nixed look of surprise anc satisfaction. 

“ Good morning, dear Rupert ! ” she cried, 
bounding towards him, and placing her arm 
within his; “I have just been sa} r ing how I 
wish you were my brother.” 

“Humph I” murmured the President, 
M that was not at all what I meant.” 

They had all breakfasted, and Cyrilla was 
standing at the window, throwing crumbs of 
bread to the birds assembled on the gravel 
beneath, when Zorndorff appeared. 

“ At last 1 ” exclaimed the President, look- 
ing at his watch, “and always l he last ” 

4 


41 

“I suppose I remained too long in my 
bath,” answered Zorndorff, as he seated him- 
self at the deserted table. 

“l r ours was not like Rupert’s, in the lake, 

I suspect.” 

“Certainly not; for however the lake 
might tempt me on a sultry afternoon, I 
greatly prefer warm or at least tepid water 
in the morning, especially when I can have 
it by walking but a few steps from my dress- 
ing- room.” 

“ 1 expect the carriage every moment,” 
said the President impatiently, as he looked 
out of the window, apparently a little pro- 
voked at his nephew's dilatory manner of 
playing with his cup and spoun ; “ but, per- 
haps, you have no urgent business in Exfort 
to-day ? ” 

“ I have most urgent, most important busi- 
ness.,” answered Zorndorff, rising without 
having helped himself to any of the various 
things pushed towards him by Rupert; 
“ and the sooner we can be off, the better 
satisfied I shall be.” 

“ Oh there is time enough for you to eat 
your breakfast,” said the President, softened 
by what he supposed a deference to lift 

wishes, “ a time for everything, you 

know.” 

“There may be time, but there is no in 

clination in the present case I cannc 

eat.” 

“ But you are not ill, I hope, Edouard '( ” 

“ In the sense you mean, no ; but I have 
been suffering mental tortures for some time 
/past that would deprive a more robust man 
than I am o«f all appetite.” 

“ Perhaps,”. said Rupert laughing, “Seltzer 
water and Hocliheimer would relieve your 
mental sufferings, at least that is what our 
assistant surgeon prescribes ; you remember 
Wickmann, he studied with us at Jena ! ” 

“He must be greatly changed if his pre- 
scriptions are worth much,” answered Zorn- 
dorff ; “ but at all events I feel more inclined 
to consult a homoeopath than any other on 
the present occasion.” He turned to Cyrilla 
as he spoke, totally unconscious that Melanie 
had made all he had said more intelligible to 
her than he perhaps would have wished. 

To his uncle his case had become as clear 
as if it had been stated on parchment with all 
the formal technicalities of what English 
lawyers call a brief and as his carriage roll- 
ed under the portico he prepared to favor his 
nephew with an “ opinion .” 

The pony-phaeton had been driven to the 
door at the same time, and while Zorndorff 
watched with elightly contracted brows C} r - 
rilla’s childish eagernesss to seize the reins, 
and Rupert’s laughing remonstrances at the 
experiments which she immediately tried 
with them, his uncle laid his hand heavily on 
his shoulder and whispered, “ Come, we have 
business to transact, and have no time for 
such fooleries.” 

Zorndorff turned away, and when seated 
by his uncle listened with quiet attention to 
the above-mentioned “ opinion,” which wa* 
given concisely and clearly, 
j “ I quite agree with you,” he said in reply 
I “ and have little doubt that MademoiselJ* 


50 


C TRILL A. 


d’ Adlerkron intends to marry lier cousin Ru- 
pert, for, as you justly observe, no two people 
can better suit each other.” After a pause 
he added, “ I have known many women more 
beautiful, much more beautiful than she is ; ! 
any one so perfectly accomplished, so fasci- | 
nating, I never even imagined.” 

“Strong language, Edouard — Let me re- 
commend your not returning to Freilands.” 

“ I had some such idea myself a few days 
ago; but, after all, I do riot see why my pro- 
bable marriage to a very different sort of 
woman at some future period should prevent 
me in the meantime from enjoying the society 
of others, ay, and admiring them too ! I find 
~ can get over paroxysms of admiration in a 
most satisfactory manner ; for instance, the 
other day at that ball or dejeuner, as I look- 
ed at the Vicomtesse de Rubigny, I wondered 
what on earth I had ever found to admire 
about her ; it was certainly not her sallow 
complexion or ” 

“ No,” said the President, interrupting him ; 

“ but in that instance you must not forget 
that your admiration was cooled by — scorn.” 

“ Scorn ? ” 

“Why, yes — she scorned, not you most 
probably but — your poverty ; and iike a true 
Lindesmar, turned to Rupert as the best ! 
parti to be had.” 

“And if the world may be believed,” said 
Zorndorff with a bitter smile, “she was in 
her turn scorned by him in the most un- 
ceremonious manner too, and was glad to 
take refuge with her French relations and 
marry a worthless cousin, who little knew the 
way in which she had previously trifled with 
her reputation.” 

“ All this may be true,” said the President, 
“but is totally uninteresting to us. Let me 
advise you to be satisfied with the really 
splendid position offered you, and not to 
waste your time longing for what is alto- 
gether out of your reach.” 

“ You think that Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron 
would also scorn a poor Kammer assessor?” 

“I think she is too amiable and too gentle 
to scorn any one; but you are both poor, 
and ” 

“Excuse me for interrupting you,” cried 
Zorndorff, eagerly, “but I really must ask 
you if you have ever perceived any thing in 
her manner to make you think that ” 

“And do you excuse me,” said his uncle, 
severely, “for never having taken the trou- 
ble to make any observations about Avliat can 
in no way concern either of us. This, how- 
ever, I can tell you, that Rupert does not 
3Com his cousin or she him ; and that being 
the case, the best thing you can do is to get 
over this paroxysm of admiration, as } T ou call 
it> with all convenient expedition, for as surely 
as he deprived you of the bright glances of 
Virginie’s dark eyes, so surely will he obtain 
the still brighter smiles of my fair sister-in- 
iaw.” 

Zorndorff sank back in the corner of the 
carriage, and when he spoke again it was on 
matters of business, which made the President 
imagine that his well-meant advice had alto- 
gether turned the current of his nephew’s 
thoughts, aud even led him to hope that the 


affair was not so serious as he had at lira! 
supposed. Of all men in the w orld a thorough • 
brea bureaucratist is the most injudicious ad- 
viser on an occasion of this kind ; such a man 
gives an opinion of a case of love as he would 
of a case of law, without taking the feelings 
of the parties concerned in the least degree 
into consideration. The President felt per- 
fectly convinced that he had in a dignified 
manner pronounced sentence of death on his 
nephew’s inclinations, quite unconscious that 
the words he had last spoken had not only 
piqued Zorndorff’s jealousy, but also turned 
his still struggling ambition into a new chan- 
nel — his passion for Cyrilla and wish to su- 
persede Rupert, his rival in cliilhood, boy- 
hood, and manhood, became identified ; and 
while listening with apparent interest to his 
uncle, as lie expatiated on his proposed re- 
formations in different departments of his ju- 
risdiction, he was in fact meditating on a 
complete change of all his plans, and deter- 
mining that no obstacle should now induce 
him to waver in his resolution — no sacrifice 
should be too great were Cyrilla to be ob- 
tained by it* 


CHAPTER XV. 

As Rupert’s leave of absence began to draw 
to a close, the gaieties at F rei lands increased ; 
one dinner party succeeded another with so 
little intermission, that at length the Belle- 
gardes and some others laughingly declared 
their intention of coming regularly from Ex- 
fort every morning, and spending the day 
there, and the plan was carried into execu- 
tion, Rupert merely stipulating that his drives 
with his cousin in the pony-phaeton should 
not be interfered with. 

C3~rilla had long been conscious that she 
was unremittingly watched by Zorndorff; 
and, though she nearly guessed the reason, 
she made no effort to contradict, by word or 
manner, what Melanie had said of h$r. There 
was something too earnest in his character to 
allow her to suppose that he would remain 
at Freilands without any fixed purpose, and 
she therefore felt no uneasiness, and rn.her 
avoided any thing that might lead to an ex 
planation, though she had observed that from 
the time that the Bellegardes and their co- 
terie had invaded. the house, he had scarcely 
spoken a word to her. 

Melanie and her friends spent many hours 
every day in the often-mentioned balcony, 
shaded from the sun by an awning, the glass 
doors communicatirig with the reception- 
rooms, open and surrounded by exotic shrubs 
and flowers, ever green, ever fresh, a single 
drooping bough or a few withered leave* 
causing their immediate removal to the con- 
servatory whence they came, while others, 
healthier and brighter, supplied their places, 
and administered to the luxury of those who, 
spoiled by habit, scarcely bestowed a glance 
on them, or were conscious of enjoyment, as 
they inhaled their perfume. 

The weather had become sultry ; the few 
I clouds visible seemed at times almost station 


J 


CYRILLA. 


51 


tr /, and not the faintest breath of wind was 
perceptible. All walking or beating parties 
had been necessarily deferred until late in 
the afternoon; and, leisurely sipping their 
coffee, the arrangements for them were dis- 
cussed in the low languid tones which suited 
the half-reclining forms whence they pro- 
ceeded. Rupert had promised to show a 
hermitage which was on one of the islands 
in the lake, to Madame de Rubigny. Cyrilla 
had agreed to accompany them : “That is,” 
she added, “ if you give me time to write to 
mamma , I want to tell her that the President 
has proposed my going with him and Melanie 
to Aix-la-Chapelle.” 

“ To Aix ! ” exclaimed Madame de Belle- 
garde. “So, Melanie, you are going to Aix 
again ? ” 

“Yes ; don’t you envy me ? ” 

“ Cela depend ! Count Zorndorff of course 
goes with you ? ” 

“ He may join us perhaps /’re- 

plied Melanie, looking irresolutely towards 
Zorndorff, who gave no sign oither of assent 
or dissent. 

“And we,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, 
“have nothing at all in prospect but a visit 
to grandpapa. I am so sorry you are going 

away — Exfort is so dull without you but 

I shall be perfectly inconsolable when Frei- 

lands is shut up I wonder Rupert does 

not leave the array, and live here altogether 

so ipar the town, and every thing one 

could wish ! ” 

“ I. have latterly been thinking a little on 
the subject,” said Rupert, who was display- 
ing considerable skill while playing with a 
cup and ball. 

“Have you?” said Melanie, looking up 
with some surprise, “I never could under- 
stand at all why you became a soldier.” 

“ It is easily told,” answered Rupert. “ I 
entered' the army to get away from my aunt 
— perhaps too in order to have a right to 
wear a hussar’s uniform, to which I took a 
fancy at a review. I have remained in it 
because it gives me occupation, and I like my 
brother officers, and live in the hopes of 
making a campaign or two before I a ” 

“ Marry ! ” said Madame de Bellegarde, 
laughing; “I wish you would do so soon, 
and settle here: the idea that this is our last 
day at Freilands is quite dreadful! Must 
you leave to-morrow ? ” 

“Yes; but our regiment will probably be 
quartered at Exfort in a year or two.” 

“ A year or two ! "Why, that’s an eternity ! ” 

“To me also,” said Melanie, “it appears a 
long time to wait before we are likety to have 
Rupert with us again, and I confess ” 

“And I confess,” said Cyrilla, as she rose 
/O leave them, “ that I shall be very angry 
if I have to wait two years before I see him 
igain.” 

Rupert followed her, still playing with his 
cup and ball, and said, in a voice only audible 
to her an4 to Zorndorff, vho now stood at a 
window reading a letter. “Cyrilla, you have 
only to ^ay that you wish me to leave the 
army, and I am ready to do so, and give up 
tor your sake all chance of a campaign ** 


“All chance of being shot, you mean,” said 
Cyrilla, laughing. 

“ Perhaps so ; but as the sacrifice is greater 
than you seem to imagine, I must tell you 
that I can only do so on condition . . . .” 

“I hate conditions,” said Cyrilla, moving 
on. 

“But you may as well listen to them. . . 

“ Impossible ! Why, have. I not told you 
that I must write to mamma about going tc 
Aix, and after that you are to row me in the 

boat, you know ; and then but I really 

wish you would go out with Madame de Ru- 
bigny, and return for me an hour hence. Do 
you know that this Virginie, about whom 
you were in doubt whether she were a devil 
or an angel, seems to have so little likeness 
to Satan, that I begin to think you a hard- 
hearted, cruel wretch to have remained in- 
sensible to . . . .” 

“ Cyrilla !” cried Rupert reproachfully. 

“ Tell me the. whole story, and I promise 
never to tease you again,” she continued ; 
“ but if you leave me to compose a romance 
of my own about yon, I believe I must sup- 
pose that you preferred her sister Julie .... 
taste is perverse sometimes ! ” 

“ Do you really mean what you say ? ” 
asked Rupert, with unusual seriousness. 

“No, I don’t,” she answered, smiling mer- 
rily; “for though I might have consented to 
your marriage with Virginie, were she still 
unmarried, I must tell you that I can never 
permit you to give me such a cousin as Julie 
de Lindesmar; and now go away and let me 
write my letter.” * 

He left her, and for nearly an hour silence 
reigned in the room to which she had retir- 
ed; at the end of that time the sound of 
voices and retreating footsteps made her sup- 
pose that the balcony party had broken up, 
and from the window she could see some 
sauntering groups moving down the lime- 
tree walk. She folded and sealed her letter, 
and once more looking out of the window, 
she perceived Zorndorff alone, walking back- 
wards and forwards near the house, — a 
black-edged, black-sealed letter, which she 
had seen him receive sopie hours before, in 
his hand. He read it again and again, and 
then walking a short distance down the alley, 
he threw himself on one 01 the seats and 
covered his face with his hand. 

There is nothing in this world which en- 
hances the value of any object we possess, 
or wish to possess, whether it be animate or 
inanimate, like the fear of losing it for ever 
This fear had now taken possession of Zorn- 
dorff’s mind with regard to Cyrilla. He had 
overheard what Rupert had said to her, — 
perceived with surprise that she was still 
quite unconscious'" of her cousin’s intentions, 
and imagined that his last and only chance 
now was to speak before his rival. Under 
the influence of one of those ungovernable 
passions which make men for the time re- 
gardless of obstacles, and careless of the 
pain inflicted on others, he had latterly only 
been deterred from doing so by uncertainty 
respecting her feelings ; but even while hal. 
provoked at finding so much self-posses3i 


CYRILLA. 


it 

m one so young and child -like in appearance, 
he admired the very quality which caused 
his perplexity. When he saw her enter the 
alley on her way to her cousin, his only 
tli ought was how to induce her to stop and 
speak to him. The most natural thing he 
could have done would have been to have 
accompanied her to the lake. It never oc- 
curred to him, or he might have asked her 
some question about Melanie or the others 
who had not gone out. He never thought of 
it ; so completely had hi3 usual calm consider- 
ation forsaken him, that she had actually 
passed before he was able to exclaim, hurri- 
edly, “ Don’t go to him pray, don’t go to 

him ! ” 

“Not go to him, after lie has .waited so 
long for me ? ” 

“ Waited ! oh no . ... he has been to the 

island with Madame de Rubigny, and has not 

yet returned in her society he is not 

likely to take much note of time.” 

Cyrilla stopped and smiled. “I should 
like"” she said quietly, “I should like very 
much to know what it is that people find 
so very fascinating in Madame de Rubigny ; 
she is interesting-looking, certainly — in fact, 
handsome . . . .” 

“No,” said Zorndorff, “she is not at all 
handsome.” 

“You say so,” she rejoined, “because you 
happen not to be one of her admirers.” 

“I was one of them,” said Zorndorff; and 
he observed with pleasure that his compan- 
ion turned suddenly towards him with a 
look of inquiry . and attention, — “but,” he 
added quickly, “not long.” 

“ I heard she was very agreeable,” said Cy- 
rilla, “ and expected to find her more 

what shall I say? — more talkative.” 

“ She never talked more than she does now 
in general conversation,” he replied ; “ but 
in a tete-a-tete she was, and is still most 
probably, what her husband would call ador- 
able. Iler real or pretended ingenuous- 
ness ” / 

“Ingenuousness!” repeated Cyrilla, “and 
I have never discovered a particle 'of any- 
thing resembling it ! ” 

“I believe,” said Zorndorff, “you never 
have seen what she can be; she is one of 
those women whose words and looks are re- 
served for our sex Adlerkron could tell 

you enough about her if he chose.” 

“But he doesn’t choose,” said Cyrilla, seat- 
ing herself at the other end of the seat; 
“ and I feel a great deal of natural curiosity 
on the subject. I suspect she married M. de 
Rubigny without caring much for him, and 
am almost sure she would have preferred 
Rupert.” 

“No doubt of it,” said Zorndorff, with a 
contemptuous smile; “she almost lost her 
reputation in her efforts to induce him to 

marry her but whether actuated by 

love or interest is unknown; I suspect the 
latter.” 

“ I do not know her well enough to under- 
take her defence,” said Cyrilla; “but you 
must acknowledge that Rupert might easily 
be loved for himself alone.” 

“Not by a Lindesmar, believe me, Made- 


moiselle d’Adlerkron and I know them long 
and well ; but why I ame them for acti ig as 
others do? — others from whom we might ex- 
pect something quite different! 

Just then Cyrilla perceived in the distance 
Rupert’s boat. She rose, and waved her 
handkerchief. 

“Do not be in such a hurry, }mu see he is 
resting on his oars ; the boat is not moving 
— lie — he is not thinking of you — now.” 

Again Cyrilla waved her handkerchief^ 
and the boat shot forward in the direction 
of the landing-place. She looked towards 
Zorndorff; he appeared a good deal agitated, 
but the expression of his face was incompre- 
hensible to her, as one last violent struggle 
between love and ambition, poverty and 
wealth, passion and principle, took place in 
his mind. He crushed, with both hands and 
unconscious vehemence, the mourning letter, 
and its great black seal, and as her eye fell 
on the latter, it suddenly occurred to her 
that he might have lost some relation or 
friend. The letter had evidently contained 
painful intelligence ; he was unhappy. A 
woman's sympathy with domestic grief i6 as 
ready as her feelings under such trials are 
acute. Cyrilla turned back, and the look of 
kind unembarrassed interest with which she 
again approached him, renewed all his 
doubts, and he scarcely listened to what 
she said until, with some hesitation, she 
added, “Though I can only speak at random, 

perhaps Melanie could ” 

“Could what?” lie asked impatiently. 

“ Could offer you some consolation, if you 
were to tell her the contents of that letter, 
which seems to have affected you so pain 
fully.” 

“Can Melanie control the inclinations of 
people she has never seen ? Can she influ- 
ence the affections of those nearest to her ? ’ 
he asked, and again his head sunk on his 
hand. “Go, and leave me more than ever a 
prey to the jealousy that has already almost 
tortured me to death.” 

“I I thought you had lost some 

friend,” said Cyrilla, glancing towards the 
letter ; “ and you are only jealous ! ” 

“ Only jealous ! ” lie repeated, looking up ; 
“ but do you know of whom ? ” 

Cyrilla shook her head. 

“Of Adlerkron, who seems born to cross 
my purposes, mar my prospects, and destroy 
my only chance of future happiness ! ” 

“I do not comprehend,” began Cyrilla, not 
a thought of Rupert and herself combining 
themselves in her mind. 

“And you do not know what I mean when 
I say that I am jealous — only jealous — but 
very jealous ; and Zorndorff raised his flash 
ing eyes to hers, just as Rupert, at the end 
of the alley, raised a flag as signal of his ar- 
rival at the boat-house. 

She waved her handkerchief twice in an- 
swer, — Zorndorff sprang from his seat, caught 
her hand as it descended, and exclaimed 
with vehemence, — “ Can you not, or will 
you not, understand me ? ” 

Impatiently releasing her hand, she cast a 
hurried glance towards the windows of the 
house ; the tacit reproach was felt ; he 


CYRILLA. 


53 


moved to the furthest end of the seat mur- 
muring some words of excuse ; and such is 
the command of looks and gestures acquired 
by constant intercourse with the world, that 
these two persons, both in a state of violent 
internal agitation, suddenly assumed an ap- 
pearance of calmness, almost indifference, so 
powerfully had a few gay-coloured parasols 
orotruding beyond the balcony reminded 
them that they were acting a scene in the 
drama of their lives, which, however tragi- 
cally it might affect them, would most as- 
suredly be viewed a3 comedy by the laugh- 
ter-loving unwished -for spectators above 
them. 

At this moment a couple of Rupert’s dogs, 
evidently just escaped from confinement, 
came bounding towards them, — never had 
these emblems of fidelity appeared more op- 
portunely. As Zorndorifs hand apparently 
fcaressed the sleek head of one of them, his 
jealousy, uncertainty, hope, fear, and love, 
found words of potent eloquence ; and Cy- 
rilla, while gently restraining the wild gam- 
bols of the other, very nearly concealed the 
anxiety which oppressed her. When he 
paused for an answer, and looked at her ex- 
pectantly, she bent her head over Carlo’s so 
as to hide her deep blushes from Zorndorff, 
as she faltered out hurriedly, but to his at- 
tentive ear quite distinctly, all he most de- 
sired to hear. One furtive glance he be- 
i towed on the balcony, and then stood with 
his hat slightly raised above his head as she 
walked quickly down the avenue, followed 
by both dogs. 

Had not Cyrilla been extremely preoccu- 
pied, she would have immediately observed 
that Rupert was remarkably grave and quiet, 
and Madame de Rubigny even more taciturn 
than usual. A sign from him made both 
dogs spring into the boat, and crouch under 
the seats, — Cyrilla took the rudder in silence, 
and not one word was spoken until they 
reached the little wooden quay, where Ru- 
pert fastened the boat: the Vicomtesse de 
Rubigny, without looking up, declared her 
intention of remaining in it. Cyrilla stepped 
on shore, and when out of hearing observed : 
“ You and Madame de Rubigny seem to have 
been quarrelling.” 

“No; but we have had a sort of explana- 
tion.” 

“The same, perhaps, with which you un- 
intentionally favoured me when we met at 
Berlin.” 

“ V ery nearly. What a provoking memory 
you have I another would have forgotten all 
about it by this time.” 

“I have heard enough since from others 
to make me remember, — they say she mar- 
ried M. de Rubigny without sparing in the 
least for him.” ** 

“So she told me just now.” 

“Told you?” 

“Yes ; but you need not look so shocked. 
If other people told you, why should not she 
tell me J ” 

“Foi/a great many reasons ; and though 
not exactly rdiocked, I confess I am rather 
surprised at her telling you what I, your 
cousin, wou.d not te 1 you in her place.” 


“Though you are my cousin, Cyrilla. w« 
have been nearly straugers to each other 
until the last two months, — with Virginie I 
have been intimate all my life.” 

“ I was not aware of that,” said Cyrilla, 
thoughtfully. 

“ Since my earliest childhood I have known 
the Lindesmars, and frequented their house ; 
their brother Victor was my friend and 
schoolfellow until he went to his uncle in 
France, when I some way seemed to take his 
place in his family ; and all the follies of Ad- 
rienne de Bellegarde, all the devilry of Julio 
de Lindesmar, are as well known to me as if 
they had been really my sisters. Virginie, 
about my own age, and more my companion 
than any of them, I could never quite under- 
stand ; but I believe her to be infinitely su- 
perior to the others in every respect.” 

“I supjmse she told you that it was the 
letter you wrote at her mother’s request 
which induced her to marry the Vicomte ? ” 

“ Something to that effect, and the idea is 
not agreeable.” 

“I cannot at all understand a woman mar- 
rying from pique,” said Cyrilla, “ and yet 
one hears of it so often. Nothing would in- 
duce me to marry a man I did not love.” 

“It is hard to say how one would act 
until the day of trial comes,” answered Ru- 
pert ; “ however, you are never likely to be 
tried as poor dear Virginie has been.” 

“But,” said Cyrilla, “would it not have 
been better for her to have waited for a year 
or two, and at the end of that time she might 
have found some one she could like quite as 
well as you ? ” 

“Unfortunately,” replied Rupert, slightly 
shrugging his shoulders, “she will not be- 
lieve in the possibility of a second love : — 
you do, it seems.” 

Cyrilla did not answer. 

“You do not like the question when put 
directly to yourself,” said Rupert, laughing. 

“I rather wish to avoid discussions of this 
kind,” said Cyrilla slowly, “as I don’t like 
talking about what I do not understand.” 

“You understand as much about the mat- 
ter as I do, perhaps ; an interchange of 
thoughts might between us be as profitable 
as — as — amusing.” 

“Well, then,” began Cyrilla, “I can ima* 
gine a man loving several times ” 

“So can I,” said Rupert, “in fact com 
tinually, until — until — he is married, when, 
of course, he comes to a full stop either Irom 
choice or necessity.” 

Cyrilla looked up inquiringly. 

“Why, you know, either he likes his wife 
too well to think of any other woman, or, 
what nearly comes to the same thing, other 
women cease to think of him because he ha# 
got a wife.” 

Cyrilla smiled. 

“ And now tell me, can you imagine a wo- 
man loving several times ? ” 

“Don’t ask me.” 

“But I must — that is what I most want to 
know.” 

“ One hears and reads of such things,” be 
gan Cyrilla. 

“I don’t want to know whaf one hears of 


1 4 


C Y R I L L A . 


or reads, I wish to know wbat you think 
jyjssible or probable/’ 

“So much,” replied Cyrilla, “depends 
upon circumstances over which we have no 
control.” 

“Agreed,” cried Rupert; “but you are 
giving your opinion so unwillingly, that you 
must allow me to suppose some of these cir- 
cumstances. Suppose, for instance, a wo- 
man’s love were slighted? ” 

“ In that case, she should conceal and con- 
quer it,” answered Cyrilla quickly. 

“And love again ? ” 

“It is to be hoped so.” 

“ And were the person loved unworthy of 
regard ” 

“ Fortunately,” said Cyrilla laughing, “ a 
woman’s imagination, in such cases, supplies 
all deficiencies, and nothing but facts, plain 
downright facts, can ever convince her of 
what she must be so unwilling to believe.” 

“Then,” cried Rupert, with heightened 
colour, “then let us leave nothing to the 
imagination, but suppose at once, that a man 
returns a woman’s love — gives her his heart 
because he cannot help himself, but from 
egotistical interested motives bestows his 
hand on another — what then ? ” 

“ Egotistical interested motives,” repeated 
Cyrilla, “ there may be some who could par- 
don — and excuse even that — I could not. I 
should despise — I am afraid almost hate — 
but why do we talk of such disagreeable 
things, and you really look as if you were 
quite in earnest. Ah, there’s the new ar- 
bour — how pretty! but it will require at 
least two years before the creepers have cov- 
ered the top of it. I suppose,” she added, 
gaily, “ I suppose it was here you waited 
for me with Madame de Rubigny, and it was 
here she fiiled your head with all those 
dreadful thoughts about slighted love and 
desertion ? ” 

“Exactly; she prophesied me all the 
horrors of being slighted.” 

“ I don’t think you have much to fear on 
that score,” said Cyrilla ; “ the President 
gave Melanie to understand, that your too 
great succes auprbs des dames had caused our 
uncle Gottfried great uneasiness.” 

“ Pshaw — nonsense.” 

“ Don’t break off the branches of that 
honeysuckle,” she cried, pushing his hand 
away from the plant ; “ the whole summer 
will not repair the mischief you have done. 
Next year when you return here, this jessa- 
mine will be at least as tall as I am ! ” 

“Perhaps so,” he replied absently. 

And they walked on silently, until be- 
tween the trees he caught a glimpse of the 
boat and Madame de Rubigny reclining list- 
lessly in the stern. “ She has a great deal 
of observation,- and may be right,” he ob- 
served. 

“ Who ? ” asked Cyrilla, looking up with a 
puzzled air; her thoughts (and unrequited 
love was not among them) had wandered 
from the island — “ Whom do you mean ? ” 

“ Virginie.” 

“ I daresay she has a good deal of obser- 
vation,” said Cyrilla, making an effort to be 
interested in what seemed to have 'n some 


way taken possession ol her cousin’s mind , 
“most intelligent people who are silent in 
company, are observant of all that is going 
on about them.” 

“Then,” rejoined Rupert, “perhaps a re 
mark of hers may interest you.” 

“ Perhaps it may ; let me hear it.” 

“ She has discovered that Zorndorff is irre 
trievably in love with you.” 

“ Has she ? ” said Cyrilla, stooping to 
gather some flowers; “and do you know 
| what I have discovered? ” 
j “ The same thing, perhaps,” said Rupert. 

“No,” replied Cyrilla, laughing, “1 think 
it better to wait until I am told such things ; 
but,” she added in a whisper, as they ap- * 
proaclied the quay, “it has become evident 
to me that she is annoyed at our liking each 
other so much ! ” 

“ And do you like me ? ” 

“Dearest Rupert, can you doubt it?” 
cried Cyrilla, as she lightly leaned on his 
arm and sprang into the boat. 

The sultry day closed with a sunset of 
unusual brilliancy, and the last yellow rays 
played gaily on the bright summer dresses 
c?F the loungers on the balcony, as they 
watched the changing form of the gold- 
ecloured clouds, and unreservedly regretted 
their approaching separation. Without ex- 
actly caring much for each other, their edu- 
cation, habits, and manners, were so similar, 
their position in the 'world so much the same, 
and they were in their determination to rule 
the society of Exfort so united, that all petty 
jealousies had ceased. They knew and 
laughed at each other’s foibles without hesi- 
tation, and were so very unreserved in their 
remarks and raillery, that Cyrilla, whose ac- 
quaintance with them was of recent date, 
not unfrequently experienced a confused 
feeling of apprehension, and dreaded nothing 
so much as becoming, if only for a day, the 
subject of their mirth. It had been this fear 
which had given her strength that morning 
to listen, apparently unmoved, to words oi 
incalculable importance and interest, and had 
enabled her to answer them, and stake her 
life’s happiness, without daring to bestow 
one glance on the man in ■whose hands she 
had resolved unreservedly to. place it; and 
it was the same motive which* now induced 
her, not only to listen, but to join in the de- 
sultory conversation which was carried on, 
though she longed to take refuge in her 
room to think over the momentous ■words 
she had spoken — the promise she had made 
without one thought of her mother, — that 
mother whose idol she had been all her life, 
and who, she more than suspected, would 
disapprove of £& engagement that must ne- 
cessarily be of «mne years’ continuance, and 
the termination of which would be at least 
so far beneath her often expressed hdpes and 
expectations. It was, therefore, wuth un 
mixed feelings of satisfaction, that ' Cyrilla 
saw the different carriages drive up before 
the house, and from the balcony watched 
the departures. As the last disappeared 
behind the trees, and Rupert, havinlg com- 
pleted his cheerful adieux, turned irj.to the 
house, Zorndorff approached her ami said 


C YHILLA. 


“I ntend to return home this evening, to — 
to write — some letters ” 

“And I,” answered Cyrilla, “must also 
write — to my mother.” 

“Not until we h£ve spoken — that is, con- 
sulted Melanie,” he said eagerly; “to-mor- 
row we shall meet without the restraint 
which has latterly been so intolerable to 
me.” After a moment’s pause and hesita- 
tion, he added, “ I am sorry to be obliged to 
request you to let our engagement remain 
a secret for the present — it is absolutely ne- 
cessary — unavoidable for some time at least ; ” 
and then, without waiting for an answer, he 
fervently but hastily pressed her hand to 
his lips, and turned to meet Rupert, whose 
voice lie heard in the adjoining room. 
“Adieu, Adlerkron,” he began, “we shall 
not meet again for some time, and there- 
fore ” 

“And therefore,” cried Rupert, interrupt- 
ing him, “you think it incumbent on you to 
leave me twelve hours sooner than is neces- 
sary ! Come — be sociable for once in your 
life, and remain here until after breakfast 
to-morrow.” ’• 

“I cannot,” replied Zorndorff; “there is a 
letter which must be sent to the post to- 
night ” 

“ Write here,” cried Rupert, “and send an 
express into Exfort.” 

“The letter,” said Zorndorff, unwillingly; 
but, as if he thought it necessary to excuse 

himself in some way, “ the letter is 

already written, and only requires date and 

seal but it is in my writing-desk at 

home, and I ” 

“ A letter written and put aside for con- 
sideration!” said Rupert. “That sounds 
mysterious, but will scarcely justify your 
abrupt departure, after having so far fulfilled 
your destiny as to remain here during 
the...... ” 

“Fulfilled my destiny! What do you 

mean ? ” 

“Come, don’t pretend to have forgotten 
the time }^ou had your planet ruled, or what- 
ever the proper expression may be for hav- 
ing one’s fortune told by the stars, instead 
of with a pack of cards ! You look now as 
if you would rather you had not told me.” 

“ 0 not at all,” said Zorndorff ; “ but I am 
rather surprised at your remembering what 
I had altogether forgotten.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Rupert, “ have you 
forgotten that you are to be married t^'ice ? 
and that the year of the two 3’s'is to Lj one 
of danger to us both ? ” 

“ Nonsense,” said Zorndorff, turning away 
while a fearful paleness overspread his fea- 
tures, and even his lips wer^white when he 
spoke to his aunt. 

“ Edouard, you must tell me about this,” 
she whispered, “ some day when we are 
alone.” 

“ I cannot remember — it is too long ago,” 
he answered impatiently. 

“lie is ashamed of believing such things,” 
continued Rupert, laughing; then, suddenly 
perceiving that Zorndorff looked annoyed, he 
added: “Yet greater men than he/ is have 
been credulous — actually ar/l delibe 


6$ 

rately working out the predictioi s mads 
them. Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, for 
instance, whose astrologer was no less a per* 
son than Kepler himself! And then Napo 
leon, who, they say, not unfrequently con- 
sulted the famous Lenormaud.” 

“ I could tell you a curious thing about 
that Mademoiselle Lenormaud,” began Me- 
lanie ; but Zorndorff hastily took leave, and 
though Rupert professed the greatest curios- 
ity about it, she persisted in saying that 
“ there was no use in telling him anything of 
that kind.” 

“Then,” said Rupert, leaning over The 
back of her chair, and lowering his voice, so 
that his words were inaudible to the Presi- 
dent ; “ then let me tell you something of 
another kind : — I — should — like to marry — 
Cyrilla.” 

“What!” cried Melanie, looking at him 
incredulously ; “you don’t mean to insinuate 
that you think seriously of marriage ? ” 

“ I don’t insinuate, but say plainty, that I 
wish to marry Cyrilla, if she will consent. 
However, as I don’t want to take her by 
surprise, and have reason to suppose that 
she has never thought about me in that way, 
you had better talk to her to-niglit, and be- 
fore morning she can make up her mind one 
way or other.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Melanie, “ I am afraid 

that is, she oh, why did you not speak 

sooner ? ” 

“ Why, you know, or rather, perhaps, you 
do not know, that I had determined not to 
marry her, or indeed any one else, for ten 
years at leasts and though I liked her from 
the first, it is only about a week ago that I 
discovered how much, and all that sort of 
thing ; and now I wish I could carry her off 
at once, without any unnecessary talk or 
ceremony, for I don’t at all like the idea of a 
separation.” 

Melanie gazed fixedly on the ground, and 
spoke not a word. 

“Well,” he added, after a moment’s pause, 
“ can you not say something — say, at least, 
that you approve — that } T ou wish ” 

“I wish,” said Melanie, “I wish you had 
not remained so long in Berlin — I wish you 
had acted differently during the week we 
were there — I wish you had shown a little 
more emprcssemcnt in the first instance ’ 

“Nevermind that now,” cried Rupert, im- 
patiently ; “Cyrilla has long forgotten it, 
and is such a dear little rational creature, 
that I have great hopes she may discover she 
could not do better than take me, and have 
her own way all the rest of her life.” 

“It would be, in every respect, a most ra- 
tional sort of marriage,” began Melanie, 
slowly ; “ and,” she added, musingly, “ and 
one that most probably my aunt, and most 
certainly my stepmother, would approve.” 

“01 am quite aware of that,” said Rupert, 
“I have already had more than one letter 
from my aunt, almost commanding me to 
make this proposal. If I had not admired 
Cyrilla immensely, such communications 
would have been sufficient to have mads 
me avoid her altogether. I don’t like to 
have a wife forced upon me ; but, in this iD 


So 


CYRILL A. 


stance, I am disposed to ove rlook the circum- 
stance and submit to my aunt’s consent, if I 
can only obtain Cyril la’s.” 

“ I shall speak to her to-night,” said Me- 
lanie. “ You are right to give her time to 
think; in fact, you might give her more 
time, for your love is, of course, merely that 
sort of quiet regard which persons devoid of 
sentiment usually experience.” 

“You need not analyze my love,” said Ru- 
pert, “though, perhaps, it would bear the pro- 
cess quite as well as other people’s ; but tell 

Cyrjlla of it and if she wish for time 

to consider, why I can wait a day or 

two anything reasonable ; but the 

sooner she can make up Wer mind the better, 
as the affair could be got up without any de- 
lay or difficulty, and I think we suit each 
other remarkably well ! ” 

Melanie longed to contradict the last as- 
sertion,, but she forbore. Fully aware of the 
advantages of such a marriage for her sister, 
and quite disposed to do justice to Rupert’s 
many good qualities, she considered acquies- 
cence on her part a duty ; but Zorndorff ap- 
peared to her so eminently attractive — so in- 
finitely superior to her cousin and all other 
men, that she scarcely for a moment doubted 
what Cyrilla’s decision would be. The few 
hesitating words of worldly wisdom with 
which she that night thought it necessary to 
accompany her communication, were heard 
by her astonished sister with such indigna- 
tion, and answered so quickly by apt quota- 
tions from her own speeches, that Melanie 
was instantly and effectually silenced. When 
afterwards informed of the explanation that 
had already taken place between Cyrillaand 
Zorndorff, she became, and acknowledged 
herself from that time forward, her nephew’s 
warmest advocate, hoping, as she magnani- 
mously declared to her sister, that she should 
be able to procure for her that domestic hap- 
piness, of which she had herself been so 
cruelly deprived ! 




CHAPTER XYI. 

The supposition that decision of mind and 
firmness of purpose must necessarily be ap- 
propriately embodied, is by no means un- 
common ; yet very cursory observation will 
lead to the discovery that the person and 
features do not always represent these quali- 
ties, even when inherent in no common de- 
gree, — that mild, gentlemanly men can be 
uncommonly obstinate, and gentle, delicate 
women scarcely less so ; and we may, with- 
out hesitation, use this odious word to such 
persons, as however the hard-featured and 
nflexible-looki ng may dare to brave their 
friends, those whose appearance leads to the 
supposition of pliancy are invariably termed 
obstinate when they assert or act upon an 
opinion of their own. Cyril la may therefore 
be called obstinate; and it must be confessed 
that her short decided answers to her sister, 
and impatient, passionate exclamations, 
seemed ill to suit the fragile form and youth- 
T <iee >f the sneaker; yet, although she 


continued firm, unshaken ever, for a m ament, 
it appeared at least more natural when, at 
the end of their conference, she burst into 
tears, and declared her unalterable resolu- 
tion to keep her engagement with Zorndorff, 
even if it should last for twenty years ! 

The next morning, Rupert followed her to 
the drawing room, and waited patiently 
while she collected her scattered sketches 
and drawing materials, her maid following 
her round the room with a portfolio, endea- 
vouring to understand some confused direc- 
tions about how the pencil-drawings were to 
be laid that they might not be rubbed. A 
few books which Rupert had given her she 
also took up in a hurried manner, and then 
showed a very evident intention of making 
her escape altogether. But she was recalled 
by him ; and, half laughingly, half seriously, 
requested to resign herself to the horrors of 
a lete-d-lete, which, he assured her, was now 
quite inevitable. 

“0, I have not the least objection to a 
tete-a-tete with you, if — if — ” 

“ If I were going to talk nonsense as usual,’ 
said Rupert, smiling; “but this time you 
must listen to the words of wisdom, strange 
as they will sound to you, coming from m v 
lips. 'Melanie has, of course, told you ” 

“ Oh ! Rupert, dear Rupert, don’t talk 
about that ; pray don’t. Remember all you 
said to me yourself the first time we met at 
Exfort ! ” 


“ I don’t remember what I said, but I dare- 
say it' was something very different from what 
I waut to say now.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but I remember perfectly 
your very words — words of wisdom they 

were You said that you had a sort of 

moral antipathy to the idea of cousins being 
anything to each other but cousins ; that you 
would as soon think of marrying your grand- 
mother, if you had one, os a cousin ; and that 
you could almost hate our aunt for having 
cast a shadow over the commencement of our 
intercourse by her absurd and most improper 
proposition ! ” 

“ I talked a precious lot of nonsense that 
day,” said Rupert, gravely. 

“ But after saying all this to me,” continued 
Cyrilla, quite aware of the advantage she had 
over him, “ after saying all this, how could 

y'ou expect me to to think of what you 

now propose ? ” 

“Very true,” said Rupert, still more grave- 
ly, “I was, and am, a fool; that is evident.” 

“ No,” cried Cyrilla eagerly, and mistaking 
his quiet manner for resignation or indiffer- 
ence; “no, you are my dear, kind cousin 
Rupert; and, believe me, no cousin could like 
another better than I do you.” 

tc Indeed! ” j^j d Rupert, looking at her in- 
quiringly ; “ flii 1 will wait until you have 
learned to like me better. Yen shall have 
weeks, months, a whole year ii you require 
it ! I promise to quit the army, too, and live 
here. ) You like Freilands, don’hyou?” 

“0, so much! ’’.answered Cyrilla; “the six 
weeKls that I have spent here have been the 
happitUt of my whole life ! ” 

“An\l mine, too!” said Rupert; “and I 
do not sco why we should not go on being 


C Y R I L L A . 


51 


happy, when there is nothing in the world to 
prevent it.” 

“if we could only live on just as we have 
done latefy ! ” began Cyrilla, with a sigh. 

“ That will scarcely be possible,” said Ru- 
pert ; “ for the President would never consent 
to reside altogether with me, in order that 

” here" he burst into a merry laugh, 

and then added, “You must perceive, dear 
Cyrilla, that nothing but a marriage can en- 
able us to live on together here; and, there- 
fore ” 

“ I am sorry for it,” said Cyrilla, interrupt- 
ing him hastily ; “but you must not speak 
any more about that — at least to me.” 

“And to whom else?” asked Rupert. 

“ Any one you please. I am not so vain as 
to expect, not so selfish as to wish, that you 
should not find some one more worthy of your 
affection than I am.” 

“And I,” said Rupert, with imperturbable 
good-humour, “ I have the vanity £o think 
that we suit each other perfectly, and am 
selfish enough to hope that you may not find 
any one more worthy of your affection than 
I am.” 

Cyrilla blushed, and walked to one of the 
windows, while he continued : “It is not my 
nature to be jealous, or I might perhaps have 
suspected a rival in Zorndorff; but from him 
I have nothing to fear. With his luxurious 
inclinations and ambitious plans, even you — 
even an angel from heaven — could not move 
him, if not possessed of wealth! ” 

“There are some passions stronger than 
ambition ' or the love of wealth,” suggested 
Cyrilla, in a low voice. 

“ Not with him. Besides, I have heard it 
said that he has only to stretch out his hand 
to find that of one of the richest heiresses in 
Germany placed joyfully in his.” 

“I think you must be mistaken ; he never 
made the most distant allusion to anything 
of the kind.” 

“I should have been surprised if he had,” 
said Rupert ; “ excepting, perhaps, to Mela- 
nie.” 

Cyrilla became very pale, and sat ‘down on 
the nearest chair, looking up as if she expect- 
ed to hear more. 

“It may be nothing but a report,” continued 
Rupert, “but I have heard it repeatedly, and 
should have mentioned it had I thought it 
necessary — hitherto I have bad no motive — 
you have so invariably given me the prefer- 
ence whenever we came in competition, that 
l was vain enough to imagine you liked me 
better than him. It was too much to expect 
you, at your age, to be insensible to such ex- 
traordinary personal advantages as his ! ” 
This was said half interrogatively ; but, as he 
received no answer, he added, “Yon think 
him very handsome of course? ” 

“ I think beauty of very little importance 
for a man,” site answered, evasively. 

“ 1 am glad to hear you say so" Cyrilla — 
Zorndorff, too, despises beauty in his own se. / 
and has often told me that he would willingly 
submit to be metamorphosed into the ugliyst 
fellow that ever existed, provided wealth 
vare bestowed on him.” 

“ I nos er heard him express an opinion of 


that kind,” began Cyrilla, with a loi k of 
anxiety. 

“ Very likely,” said Rupert; “I dare say 
there are many of his opinions with which lie 
has thought it unnecessary to make you ac- 
quainted — and it is quite as well fhat it i> 
so.” 

“ Rupert — you don’t like him, that is eyi 
dent.” 

“ I always thought I did, until to-day,” he 
answered candidly ; “ but without apprehend- 
ing that I have any just cause for jealousy, I 
now feel disposed to point out his faults to 
you, because I am conscious that I must lately 
have appeared to great disadvantage by a 
comparison with him! ” 

“ I don’t know that,” said Cyrilla, thought- 
fuTy. “The President says that a contrast 
with you makes his nephew appear a perfect 
egotist; and though Melanie thinks that in 
your place, and with your means, he would 
be equally generous ” 

“ Don’t call me generous — I have never 
made an effort to be so more than two or 
three times in all my life.” 

Cyrilla looked surprised. 

“ My idea of generosity,” said Rupert, “ is 
not giving of one’s abundance — that is not 
only a Christian duty, but a debt of gratitude 
for having much to bestow ; the pleasure of 
giving, too, is a reward, if one be necessary: 
but doing without something oneself in order 
to give to another is generosity ; and yet,” he 
added, musingly, “that repays itself too— 
sometimes — often.” 

“ And when were you lately generous ac- 
cording to your ideas?” asked Cyrilla with 
some curiosity. 

“ I see you want to make me forget the 
important subject we were discussing,” said 
Rupert, smiling ; “ but you must let me re- 
turn to where we started, and ask you if my 
being your cousin is the only reason you have 
for rejecting me? ” 

“Have you not told me yourself,” said Cy- 
rilla, “ that you considered it an all-sufficient 
one’ ” 

‘ But I have ceased to think it any reason 
whatever ; and you must forgive my offering 
you some advice on this occasion.” 

“ Well, what is it ? ” asked Cyrilla, rather 
pettishly. 

“That you take time to consider before yon 
refuse my proposal. You say you like me, 
and in that case I think you ought to consult 
your mother — your sister — and ” 

“No, Rupert — on this subject, and this one 
alone, I think myself a better judge than my 
mother, sister, or any one in the world could 
be for me.” 

J‘ Remember, Cyrilla, how very young you 
are ! ” 

“ I am old enough,” she said, rising, “ quite 
old enough to know the difference between 

the intimate friendship that I feel for you 

and love when put to the proof.” 

“Stay, Cyrilla,” cried Rupert, catching her 
hand as she passed him — “stay; your words 

alarm me not so much for myself as fo* 

you. Yirginie was right after all — she tolc 
me you did not care for me, and that yoi 
loved Zorndorff’. I did not, would not believe 


59 


C YRILL A. 


her, but 1 tear it is so. Oh, my dear cousin, 
listen to me for one moment : forget all I 
have said about myself, and do not misunder- 
stand my motives, when I warn you not to 
place your happiness in his keeping.” 

“ You suppose he may really have thought 
of marrying some one in Berlin ? ” said Cy- 
rilla, trying to smile, while her lips quivered. 

“People said so — it maybe true, or it may 
not — in either case, Cyrilla, avoid him, or 
you will be a most unhappy woman ! ” 

“ IIow strongly prejudiced you are against 
him ! ” she exclaimed reproachfully. 

“ I can 6 ay nothing now that will not ap- 
pear so to you,” rejoined Rupert. “ It grieves 
me to think that you will throw away your 
love, and waste the best years of your life 
on a man who, however much his selfish pas- 
sion may lead him to monopolise you now, 
will end by marrying another. You will 
never be his wife ! ” 

“ Nor yours either,” said Cyrilla, with some 
irritation; “so let us talk no more on this 
disagreeable subject.” 

“There is still one thing which I believe I 
ought to say to you,” began Rupert, and then 
he stopped and hesitated. 

“Well,” she said, turning round with ill- 
concealed impatience, “ what is it ?” 

“You had better not — tell my aunt that 
you refused to listen to my . . . .” 

“ O, you need be under no apprehension 
on that score,” said Cyrilla, with a slightly 
satirical smile, “I am aware how sensitive 
men are on such occasions, and promise you 

“ Promise me nothing,” he cried, interrupt- 
ing her, while a flush of anger passed across 
his face. “ Promise me nothing; I spoke for 
your advantage and thought not at all of my- 
self. If I am what you call sensitive, it is 
only to the very unkind construction you 
give to all my words. As far as I am con- 
cerned the whole world may know that I 
love you. I do so too sincerely not to hope 
that you may never feel the pain you have 
now inflicted, on me.” 

He left the room as he spoke, and she stood 
for some minutes completely overcome by a 
succession of the most contending and afflict- 
ing emotions. A sense of having treated her 
cousin unkindly remained uppermost in her 
mind ; and after walking irresolutely up and 
down the room for a few minutes she slowly 
followed him, looked timidly at the door of 
his study for some time before she ventured 
to pronounce his name, and then, receiving 
no answer, she turned away, and through 
me of the windows caught a glimpse of him 
as he strode quickly down the lime-tree walk 
°urrounded bv his dogs. “ He is too good- 
natured to be angry, and too light-hearted 
to be unhapp3 r ,” was her thought as she 
descended the stairs to her sister’s dressing- 
room. 

Melanie was as usual lingering over her 
late breakfast; she was also composing poet- 
ry; her lips were parted, her eyes turned to 
the ceiling, while the fingers of her left hand 
moving as if on the keys of a pianoforte formed 
the metronome of her thoughts. 

'“Lines on leaving Freilands, for Rupert.’ 


Shall I read them to yoi , CyrL a ? ” she 
not in the least observing the anxious expres- 
sion of her sister’s features. 

“Not just now. I must ask you a ques- 
tion. Tell me, Melanie, did you ever hear oi 
Count Zorndorff ’s being supposed to be en- 
gaged to any one .... I mean to a very rich 
heiress?” 

“Never,” replied Melanie, with a look o. 
such unfeigned surprise, that Cyrilla felt at 
once re-assured. She took a long breath and 
sat down. 

“ Did Rupert tell you this ? ” asked Melanie 
after a pause. 

“ Yes : but as a report for the truth of which 
he could not vouch. He seemed to think you 
must have heard it.” 

“ And so I should — if not from others from 
Edouard himself, for his confidence in me is, 
I believe, unlimited. It is, however, possible 
that some heiress may have imagined that he 
was paying her attention, and people may 
have talked about it because she was an 
heiress ; but for my part I am convinced 01 
the truth of his assertions, that you «are the 
only woman he has ever really loved in all 
his life.” 

“ I cannot bear for a moment to suspect 
him of anything dishonourable,” said Cyrilla, 
in a faltering voice ; “ but oh, Melanie, why 
did he recommend, almost insist on secrecy ? 
Surely he cannot expect me not to tell my 
mother ? ” 

“ Of course net ; but it will be time enough 
when you see her, I should think ; and why 
provoke the opposition of your aunt when 
you are aware of the enmity that exists be- 
tween her and Edouard’s father, and can 
easily imagine how angry she will be ? In 
fact, if you could make up your mind not to 
tell an } 7 one until Edouard was promoted to 
some higher situation, it would be better for 
all parties.” , 

“Nothing in the world I dread so much as 
having anything to conceal from my mother,” 
observed Cyrilla, despondingly. 

“ And yet,” said Melanie, “ I must say she 
is the very last person I could ever wish to 
confide in — she is too clever, too decided, and 
much too worldly to be consulted on an oc- 
casion of this kind. From her you have 
nothing to expect but commands to marry 
Rupert, and orders to return home imme- 
diately, in disgrace with all your family. I 
Can never forget the cold irony with which 
she treated my love for Englmann — the un- 
feeling manner in which she required the 
mutual resignation of all our love-tokens ; 
but,” she added, with a smile of satisfaction 
— “but when I saw that Valentin only re- 
turned the half of the lock of hair I had 
given him, I retained this little ugly ring, 
which never has and never shall leave my 
finger.” 

A “ I should not have retained the ring,” said 
\ yrilla ; “but if the President nad no objec- 
tion, of course no one else can.” 

\“I never asked Wilhelm. I would nol 
name such a thing to him, even now, for any 
consideration : besides, he was jealous at firs^ 
and never shall I forget his rage on finding 
me hvoking over some poems which I had 


C Y R I L L A. 


written before I ever saw him. He would 
not listen to my explanations, dashed my 
little casket to atoms, and tore the papers to 
pieces.” 

“Is it possible that the President can be in 
a passion ? ” asked Cyrilla. 

“ I only saw him in one — that once — but 
the contrast to his usually cold satirical man- 
ner was so great, that, though surprised and 
shocked at his violence, I never felt anything 
so nearly like loA r e for him as at that moment, 
and think if he had gone on being jealous and 
furious, I should have liked him at last ; but,” 
she continued, with a sigh, “he would not 
be jealous any more, and I had not courage 
to tell him that Valentin alone possessed 
heart and occupied my thoughts ! ” 

Cyrilla did not seem to hear. She was 
looking at the watch on the toilet. “ Don’t 
you think,” she observed, after a few minutes’ 
silence, during which Melanie finished the 
composition of the “ Lines on leaving Frei- 
lands” — “ Don’t you think you could be ready 
to go to Exfort in an hour? I wish so much 
to see Count Zorndorff again, and put an end 
to my present state of uncertainty.” 

An unusual stillness pervaded the whole 
house, and especially the hitherto so gay 
reception-rooms, as Cyrilla and her sister 
stepped for the last time into the balcony, 
and looking round them saw Rupert saunter- 
ing homewards. He quickened his steps 
when he observed Melanie’s carriage before 
the house, and the impatient horses compel- 
ling the coachman to make frequent circuits 
of the gravelled space before the entrance. 

“ My dear Rupert,” she said, when he join- 
ed them, “ you look so serious that I could 
almost fancy you were as sorry to lose us as 
we to lose you.” 

“You k?iQw I aui more so, Melanie; but I 
have no intention of sinking under my dis- 
appointment, or yielding to useless regrets. 
I shall make the most violent exertions to 
forget the last six weeks ; and by the time 
we meet again, I shall be nearly as jolly as 
ever.” 

There was such an ill-concealed effort at 
cheerfulness in his manner, that Cyrilla, half 
beseechingly, held out her hand and said : 
“ You are not angry with me, Rupert ? ” 

“Heaven forbid that I should be so unrea- 
sonable,” he replied quickly. “ Experience 
has taught me that the affections cannot be 
controlled. I see,” he added, turning to Me- 
lanie, “ that you have written a ‘ farewell,’ 
and only hope it is not an affecting one, for I 
don’t think I could stand anything lachry- 
mose just now.” 

“ Lines on leaving a place where we have 
been happy, and saying farewell to one we 
love, without knowjng when we may meet 
again, can scarcely be gay,” answered Me- 
lanie ; and half exulting in the thought of 
moving her hearers, she began in a low mo- 
notonous voice to recite them. 

Music has been called the “poetry of the 
air.” May not poetry be supposed the music df 
the mind ? Melanie’s manner of reading was 
go insipid, and produced a discordance so dis- 
agreeable to Cyrilla’s feelings, that stye at 
length interrupted her by saying: “ !s’j> one 


68 

should ever read their own composition is. 
Yon are not doing justice to your paem, Me 
lanie ; give it to me.” 

For a moment her eye ran quickly ovei 
the paper, and then with inexpressible grac« 
and a correctness of emphasis, pauses, and 
tones that evinced both study and practice 
she read the lines, awakening, in a most ex 
traordinary degree, the sympathy of both 
her companions. 

“ You clever creature ! ” exclaimed Rupert, 
when she had ceased, “every day brings some 
new talent to light.” 

“ That is not a talent,” said Cyrilla ; “ it is 
an accomplishment requiring as much prac- 
tice and instruction as any other.” 

“ Cyrilla, you have now quite convinced 
me,” said Melanie, “that for a woman a care- 
ful education is more desirable than talent 
and accomplishments — greatly preferable to 
genius.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Cyrilla ; “ we can talk 
about that some other time ; but let us now 
take leave of Rupert, and go home. If part- 
ing be half as disagreeable to him as it is to 
me, he will wish it over.” 

“ What I most wish,” said Rupert quietly 
“ is, that a time may come when you will fee, 
for me the affection which you now so unre- 
servedly express.” 

“ And you do not believe me ! ” said Cyrilla 
reproachfully. 

“ I believe you think yourself sincere ; and 
I am sure you like me as well as you do half- 
a-dozen other men who do not care about the 
matter. Unless something quite unforeseen 
should occur, we shall not meet for a long 
time, Cyrilla, — not, perhaps, until you have 
learned to think differently of me and others 
too.” 

Neither Cyrilla nor Melanie "wished to pur- 
sue the subject further; they left the bal- 
cony, followed by Rupert, and parted with a 
forced gaiety of which they were all quite 
conscious, but which they supposed it neces 
sary to assume before their servants. The 
higher the rank, the more frequently occasions 
present themselves for acting a part — most 
often of all in palaces. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The fear of being overheard or interrupted by 
the President intluced Melanie to summon her 
nephew to her boudoir directly she heard of 
bis arrival at her house. He entered the room 
with an appearance of such joyous expectation, 
and advanced towards them so eagerly, that 
she half turned tc Cyrilla, who leaned on the 
back of her chair, ind exclaimed, “ 0 ! can you 
suspect or doubt, when fie looks as he does 
now ? ” 

“Suspect! — doubt!” repeated Zorndorff, 
turning from one to the other, while a shade of 
displeasure began to darken his handsome 
featuresr 

“Tell him what I have heard, Melanie,* 
whispered Cyrilla timidly. 

“ We have been told,” began Melanie, with 
some reluctance, “ that .... there was some one 


60 


C Y R I L L A . 


of huge fortune . . . . to whom you were gener- 
ally supposed to be ... . engaged.” 

'* Rupert your informant, of course ; but I 
can forgive, his saving anything in the first 
burst of annoyance at the only disappointment 
he has ever met with iu his life.” 

“ I knew,” cried Melauie triumphantly, “ I 
knew it was a mere report ; perhaps without, 
the slightest foundation ? ” 

Cyriila looked up anxiously. 

Zorndorff hesitated a moment, and then re- 
plied, “ N — o ; not altogether without founda- 
tion.” 

“ If,” said Cyriila, hurriedly, “if an engage- 
ment exisf . . . . tell me so at once.” 

“And then....” sail Zorndorff quickly, 
* and then ? ’’ 

“ And then, let ours be at an end.” 

“ Perhaps you wish it to be so,” he said 
haughtily ; “ and in that case no explanation is 
necessary.” 

“ Edouard,” cried Melanie, reproachfully, 
“ this is not the manner in which you ought to 
speak to Cyriila. Do not force her to repent 
a promise which she made with such unreserved 
confidence ; what she desires to know is reason- 
able, and you are bound to answer her.” 

“ You are right,” said Zorndorff ; “ and after 
all there is little to relate. Young men gen- 
erally become acquainted, often intimate, with 
the sisters of their friends ; and I formed no 
exception to the rule.” 

“ Then the person to whom Rupert referred 
was the sister of a friend ? ” 

“ Yes, the daughter of a banker, with the 
prospect of an unusually large fortune, and 
surrounded by applicants for her favour.” 

“ So, it was a serious affair, after all ? ” 

“ The world said so, and my father ardently 
desired the connexion, as what I most anted, 

wealth, was to be obtained by it ; but ” he 

stopped and bit his lip. 

“ .But what ? ” cried Melanie, impatiently. 
“ Do you mean to say that she refused you ? ” 

“ N— o.” 

“ Her father refused his consent, perhaps ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Then you refused yours,” said Melauie, 
smiling. 

Zorndorff was silent ; he took up a book from 
f Te table, turned over the leaves, and showed 
most evidently that he wished to end the con- 
versation. 

Cyriila was too deeply interested to observe 
this, and said, earnestly, “ This is what I under- 
stood from Rupert; but he seemed to thiuk 
that the temptation would be too great for you 
to resist ; her fortune is so immense.” 

. “ It has become immense by the death of her 
brother. Rupert would of course be sceptical, 
if I said that such a dower would overwhelm 
me ; it seems like a reversal of the order of 
tilings, when a woman bestows all, and a man 
has nothing but himself to offer.” 

“ If you had liked her, you would not have 
thought of that for a moment.” 

“ Perhaps not; but as I did not in the least 
care for her, it served as an excuse for termin- 
ating an affair in which my father-had from the 
f rst interested himself more deeply than ever 
I had done.” 


“ Is your father so very interested t n asked 
Cyriila, with some alarm. 

“Not altogether, in the sense you mean, 1 * 
answered Zorndorff, half smiling; “he was 
interested about Margaret, on account of hei 
personal sufferings. She was subject to ner 
vous attacks of a painful and dangerous de- 
scription; and it was iu consequence of one ot 
these illnesses that people began to talk about 
an engagement, as 1 was obliged to spend 
hours beside her sofa, holding her hand in mine, 
her father imagining this the only preservative 
against a recurrence of the spasms, or whatever 
they were called.” 

“Did you observe anything like mesmeric 
sleep ? ” asked Melanie, eagerly. “ Did you 
feel ary loss of strength, as she began to re- 
cover \ ” 

“ More loss of temper than loss of strength ; 
I never felt so bored and irritated iu my life.” 

“Perhaps the irritation of her nerves had 
communicated itself to yours .... perhaps . . . . H 

“ Spare me,” cried Zqrndorff, hastily ; “ the 
subject is disagreeable, most painful to me ; 
and if," he added, turning to Cyriila, “ if you 
can forgive my impatient answer just now, 
and are satisfied with my explanation, I hope 
it will never again be mentioned.” 

“ I am quite satisfied,” said Cyriila ; “ for if 
I have rightly understood you, there has been 
no engagement entered into, and therefore there 
is none to be broken off on my account ; so, I 
suppose, I may now write to my mother ? ” 

Zorndorff was silent, and for more than a 
minute appeared to think intently. “ I have 
no reasonable objection,” he then said slowly; 
“ but I should greatly prefer your waiting until 
your return to Salzburg ; we have fortunately 
time enough before us for explanation and dis- 
cussion, and on the part of your aunt you may 
be prepared for the most violent opposition.” 

“ That I know,” said Cyriila, “ and agree 
with you in thinking it better to avoid giving her 
a subject of animadversion ; but from my 
mother I have never had any concealment, and 
her consent, even if unwillingly given, would 
relieve my mind from all anxiety.” 

“Then write to her,” said Zorndorff, “but 
not just yet ; grant me a few weeks’ delay. I 
have such an unconquerable misgiving that my 
dream of happiness will be but short .... her 
answer may end it ... . may separate us foi 
ever ! ” 

“ It will not, if Melanie write at the same 
time with me. You know mamma might no< 
believe all I intend to say in your favour ; but 
Melanie can write letters that would move the 
very stones.” 

“ If you will both defer writing until you are 
about to leave Exfort, it is all I desire.” 

“ Cyriila, you can hardly refuse this, his only 
request,” observed Melanie. 

Stay,*’ cried Zorndorff, “ I have another to 
add to it; I am still more anxious that my 
uncle should be kept in ignorance of our er 
gagernent until lie has used his influence tc 
procure me the situation which I hope will 
Read to fortune and honour. That once obtained, 
evVn lie can hardly oppose my wishes, although 
I know he lias other plans for me.” 

“Aud for Cyriila, too,” said Melanie. ‘K# 


CYRILLA. 




is quite persuaded she intends- to marry Rupert, 
and has repeatedly desired me to point out all 
the advantages of such a marriage to her ; his 
opposition would be strong, and not, I fear, con- 
fined to words so you see, Cyrilla . . . . ” 

“ I see that I am doomed to ... . secrecy.” 

“ And is it possible you ever thought of con- 
sulting Wilhelm ? ” 

“ No.” replied Cyrilla, “ I am too much afraid 
of him for that ; but I certainly was equally 
far from intending deliberately to deceive him.” 

“ There is no deception,” said Melanie. “ You 
will merely be silent, that' is all; and, surely 
this very innocent little mystery will, have 
some charm for you, if a particle of roijwmce be 
left in your disposition.” 

Cyrilla shook her head very gravely. 

“ Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron will not conde- 
scend to be romantic,” said Zorndorff 

“ The word romantic cannot prevent me 
from feeling that I am about to do that of 
which my mother would disapprove,” said 
Cyrilla, turning her tearful eyes to her sister’s 
face. 

“ That I dare not dispute,” rejoined Zorn- 
dorff; “there is no doubt that your mother 
would greatly prefer your cousin Rupert for a 
son-in-law — that she would like to hear you 
congratulated by your friends — would like to 
be- herself envied by all mothers who had 
daughters to dispose of; and, putting all the 
necessity for secrecy out of the case, Mademoi- 
selle d’Adlerkron .... it is enormous presump- 

ti -u on my part, having ever dared to love 

you. Perhaps I might, perhaps I could, have 
resigned you, had you not yourself said that 
.... Oh Cyrilla,” lie exclaimed, passionately, 
“ write, say, do what you please — anythiug, 
but recall the words you spoke yesterday.” 

“ I have no wish to recall them,” said Cyrilla, 
i \ a low voice. 

“ The most distant allusion to their purport 
in my uncle’s presence would cause my banish- 
ment, from Exfort, and effectually separate us 
for ever.” 

“ We shall at all events be separated in the 
course of a few months,” said Cyrilla, “ but I 
have sufficient reliance on you to wait patiently 
for better times.” 

“ And,” he persisted, “ suppose these better 
times were very distant ; suppose obstacles 
apparently insurmountable should be placed 
between us ? ” 

“ I will wait — years — a life long ! ” 

“Will you promise?” cried Zorndorff, with 
unaccountable eagerness, “ will you promise 
me that?” 

“ What I said yesterday meant it, and you 
may rely on me. I ask for no assurances, no 
promises from you ; I trust you implicitly — is 
it too much to expect you to do the same by 
me ? ” 

“ Plow in — tolerably rational she is ! ” ex- 
claimed Zorndorff, turning to Melanie. “ She 
does not love me yet.” 

“ You are ungrateful,” said Melanie ; “ can you 
not perceive that her regard shows itself in 
acts, not in words ? ” 

“ But unfortunately I am. by nature suspi- 
cious, and nothing but an irrevocable promise 
can satisfy me.” 

M Irrevocable 1 * repealed Melanie, laughing ; 


“ one would almost suppose that y >u were sug« 
gesting a clandestine marriage.” 

“ I wish I dared do so,” said Zorndorff. 

“ That would be terrifically romantic /’rejoined 
Melanie ; “ but such a thing must not be named, 
or even thought of fir a moment.” And she 
suddenly rose and put an end to a conference 
that was taking' so dangerous a turn. Hes 
jesting interpretation of his words, however, 
served to inspire a hope from which nothing 
could afterwards induce Zorndorff to swerve, 
and on which he rang the changes, until the 
idea became familiar to her, and at length 
formed a frequent subject of discussion. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The ensuing six weeks decided Cyrilla’s lot in 
life ; during that time the strong youthful 
fancy, and unconscious admiration that sh« fe lv 
for Zorndorff became, under her sister’s auspice 6 ' 
and his unremitting de votion, a passion of tlia 
enthusiastic description which, however mud 
cultivation of mind and manners might enahl* 
her to conceal it, was powerful enough to hlim 
her judgment, make her dependent on him fa 
happiness, and even threatened to deprive he 
youth of its hitherto unbroken serenity. 

It was the dull season at Exfort; all Me 
lanie’s friends and acquaintances began to qui 
the town: the Bellegardes, with whom she wat 
most intimate, were to visit their graudfathe; 
in the south of France; the Yicomtesse de 
Rubigny to return to Italy with her husband 
who was attached to the French legation at 
one of the minor courts; and the President’s 
arrangements and press of business previous to 
his journey to Aix confining him almost exclu- 
sively to his office, — Melanie, Cyrilla, and Zorn* 
dorff were more than ever drawn together, their 
intercourse less impeded or disturbed than before. 
An apparently unlimited confidence was esta- 
blished ; letters -were read aloud, answers dis- 
cussed, and, finally, three applications for con- 
sent to Cyrilla’s engagement despatched by' 
the same post to Salzburg. Melanie’s letter 
was perfect, the romance subdued, the praises, 
of her nephew judicious. Zorndorff ’s short* 
energetic, and trustful. Cyrilla endeavoured 
to confine herself to affectionate entreaties ; but 
deep feeling and painful anxiety were legible 
between each timid line. 

The morning they were to leave Exfort, the 
President, as usual, waited until after the post 
hour, deliberately looked over all his letters, 
and then retired to give some final directions. 

“ I have just heard from my father,” said 
Zorndorff, approaching Cyrilla ; “ he is going to 
Aix — win him, and all will go well.” 

“ What must I do to make him like me ? ” 

“ Sing for him, read for him, sketch for him, 
and above all • things, laugh and talk as you 
would to me. You will not find him insensible 
though perhaps a little indifferent at first.” 

“ 0 ! ” said Cyrilla, a good deal relieved, “ J 
don’t think, from this description, I shall be at 
all afraid of him.” 

“ Your peculiar position just now makes m>* 
usual care necessary,” said Zorndorff. “ Hi* 
plans for me were similar to your aunt’s for 


62 


CYRILLA. 


you ; and he is not a man who makes allow- 
ances for weaknesses Jiat interfere with what 
he considers duties.” 

“ But,” said Cyrilla, “ there is no duty in this 

case you are not in any way bound to this 

Margaret von Sommerfeld ” 

“ Ho — no — certaiuly not but my father feels 
such compassion for her wretched state of 

health that he ” Here, to Zorndorff s 

great relief, the President entered the room 
again ; aud he added, as if in continuation, “ In 
short, he is a great admirer of your sex, takes 
their part on all occasions, and I have not the 
least doubt that you will like him.” 

“ Of whom are you speaking ? ” asked the 
President. 

“ My father. I have just been telling Made- 
moiselle d’Adlerkron that she will see him at 
Aix. He desired me to meet him there as^soon 
as I can manage to get away from Exfort.” 

* I think,” said the President, slightly frown- 
ing, “ it would be better if you went to Berliu. 
The six months’ mourning is at an end, and 
there is no reasonable cause for further delay.” 

“ Theu I must make an unreasonable one,” 
said Zorndorff, with affected unconcern ; but, 
seeing the determined gravity of his uncle, he 
added, “ I can do nothing until I have seen my 
father again, and must give him time to take 
liis bath's in peace before we think of transact- 
ing business.” 

In the meantime,” said the President, with 
a good deal of meaning in his manner, “ in the 
meantime you can get over the paroxysm of 
admiration of which you once spoke to me, and 
the sooner you *do so now the better. Much 
as I like your society, I have no wish for it at 
Aix. You understand me, I know.” 

Aix-la-Chapelle was, twenty years ago, far 
fiom being either a handsome town or particu- 
arly pleasant place ; but the warm springs of 
mineral water, for which it has been so long 
celebrated, made it then, as now, much fre- 
quented for some mouths every year. At the 
time of the Congress "which had been held there 
in 1818, the President had first seen Melanie; 
and, after a very short acquaintance, she had 
become his wif§. With a regularity which had 
pervaded all his movements through life, he 
had returned to Aix year after year, taking the 
same walks, observing the same diet, and using 
the same number of baths, until they had be- 
come, from habit, as necessary to the renovation 
of his strong frame as the relaxation from busi- 
ness was undoubtedly beneficial to his hard- 
worked mind. It is true, he read the news- 
papers while in his bath, and wrote several 
hours every day, but he was no longer absorbed 
in business; he grew almost cheerful, and even 
occasionally hazarded something like a jest with 
his old friend General Zorndorff, who invariably 
spent the greater part of every day with him. 

As Melanie never walked, the President con- 
sidered it incumbent on him to take Cyrilla out 
with him ; and, after having shown her every- 
( thing worth seeing in and about the town, from 
the tomb of Charlemagne and the relics, to the 
pond of warm salt water, in which the fish 
flourish instead of being parboiled, %he was 
thenceforward expected daily to ascend the 
Louisberg, rest for a time on the terrace, ad- 
awe the view, and then return home in pre- 


cisely the period of time which had been lounc 
requisite for the performance of this healthful, 
pleasant, and exhilarating walk during the 
three trials necessary to ascertain the fact. It 
is not improbable that she might have found 
herself before long in the same situation as the 
girl in Madame de Genlis’ “ Palais de la Ve- 
rity,” who, being condemned to wander per- 
petually on the most luxuriant green grass, 
under a sky of unclouded blue, was at first 
enchanted w T ith the 'bright prospect, but soon 
growing weary of it and her w r alk, wished for 
any convulsion of nature that would change and 
terminate it. Cyrilla’s companions, however, 
supplied by their conversation the want of va- 
riety in the scenery. The President, though 
not what is called agreeable, was well m 
formed ; the General was Y>oth ; aud the awe 
Cyrilla haa apprehended she should feel in his 
presence was forgotten, when, instead of the 
grim-looking warrior she had unconsciously 
taught herself to expect, his still handsome face 
and youthful figure met her anxious glance. It 
seemed as if hard service, more than age, had 
partially bleached his hair, which, on his head 
and in his moustachios, grew thick and long, 
while his dark eyes, clear and expressive as his 
son’s, were even more constantly animated, and 
the scarcely perceptible shade of red that 
coloured his sunburnt features, gave an appear- 
ance of health and freshness to his Avhole 
person. 

Cyrilla’s task was easy. He had known her 
father long and well ; they had suffered dan- 
gers and hardships together; her name inte- 
rested, her appearance charmed him ; and the 
half-playful, half serious efforts which she unre- 
servedly made to please, added to the incessant 
eulogiums of the President, at length completely 
fascinated him. There was no endeavour on 
his part to appear a day younger than his age, 
there was nothing youthful in his manner, but 
there was also nothing aged. He had not be- 
come garrulous, that most unfailing proof of 
weakening intellect. He neither spoke of his 
successes in love or war. If questioned about 
his campaigns, he described them as events in 
which his person was lost sight of' altogether , 
but he had known all the celebrated men of the 
last war, and of them he spoke freely enough, 
and about what he had seen in the different 
camps and courts where chance had thrown 
him he was by no means reserved. 

Cyrilla’s walks on the Louisberg were very 
pleasant. She sprang lightly on between her 
companions, at first merely a listener to their 
conversation, latterly a participator in it. The 
President thought it necessary occasionally to 
affect a little parental authority when, complain- 
ing of heat, she threw off a scarf or shawl, and 
let her bonnet hang by its strings on her 
shoulders. Hot so the General. He laughed, 
seemed to enjoy, and openly encouraged all hei 
childish wilfuluess. 

One day, on their return, they found Melanie 
sitting at a table covered with newly arrived 
letters. Cyrilla’s colour changed rapidly as she 
received the long-expected one from her 
mother, and retired with it to a distant win- 
dow. Melanie seemed lost in thought, the 
President and General so occupied, that foi 
nearly half an hour the silence was unbr^ke* 

v l I 

/ 


CYRILLA. 


61 


excepting by tne occasional rustling of paper 
or breaking of seals. At length the General 
observed: “How pleasantly and quickly our 
time here has passed this year, Wilhelm! 
Edouard writes that he will join us here, 
though I scarcely expected him to do so, as he 
refused last year ; and I know he particularly 
dislikes Aix.” 

The President looked at Cyrilla. She was 
gazing into the street, and appeared totally 
uninterested in what had been said. “ All 
right there at least,” he thought. 

But Cyrilla had not heard one word. 

“ He says,” continued the General, referring 
to his letter, “he says he can remain here a 
week or two, and that he hopes to induce his 
aunt and her sister to make some excursions 
with him.” 

“ I shall be delighted,” said Melanie, with a 
faint laugh and embarrassed look, as she moved 
quickly across the room to Cyrilla, and asked, 
in a whisper, “ Good or bad news ? ” 

“ Good — that is, consent ; but given reluc- 
tantly — 0, so reluctantly, that it scarcely de- 
serves the name. There are a few lines en- 
closed for you and for him, but the letter seems to 
have been delayed more than a week in Exfort !” 

“ Edouard kept it, hoping to bring it to you 
himself. As, however, he cannot be here until 
next week, and finds suspense intolerable, he 
has desired me to write to him directly, but on 
no account to let either his father or Wilhelm 
know that I do so.” * 

'■ I hoped,” said Cyrilla, with a sigh, “ that 
there would soon be an end to all this Secrecy.” 

“ 0 # my dear creature, you do not know ho’sy 
poor dear Edouard has become entangled with- 
in the last few weeks. He has evidently been 
too compassionate, and if you do not assist him, 
I fear he will be sacrificed.” 

“ Sacrificed ! ” 

“ Hush ; wait until these two men have left 
the room: you see they are just going.” 

“Well,” said Cyrilla, as the door closed on 
them. 

“ Let me read you part of his letter,” said 
Melanie, her eyes glancing quickly over the 
closely written pages. “ ‘ Accumulated an- 
noyances unsolicited affection cursed 

feeling of commiseration ’ no, that’s not it 

But here he says : ‘ And just wdien I had 

reason to hope that I should never hear their 
odious names mentioned again, I received a 
letter from old Sommerfeld, to say that he was 
ill, and would, in all probability, soon follow 
his son to the grave; — that if his daughter’s 
fortune were twenty times greater than it is, 
there was no one on whom he would so wil- 
lingly bestow her and it as on me. My very 
objection to be enriched by her had so raised 
me in his opinion, as well as hers, that he 
joined her in wishing to make the most liberal 
settlement on me, so that I should in no way 
feel dependent on either of them.’ ” 

“ Very magnanimous !” said Cyrilla, breath- 
ing quickly ; “ these offers seem to have had 
weight with him, too. You may tell him when 
you write that he is at liberty to accept them.” 

“ Wait until you hear the rest ’ said Melanie, 
and she continued to read : — “ I need not tell 

\i that this proposal made no sort of impres- 
' on me ; but when the old man added that 


his unfortunate child had been ill since the tkne 
she had last seen me, and that she was at times 
almost quite insensible for hours, I could not 
.refuse to pity and believe him. 1 have seen 
her in that state myself, and the question is 
now simply, is she or am I to be sacrificed ? ’ ” 
Melanie paused, and looked up. 

“ He seems to forget me altogether ! ” ob- 
served Cyrilla with some bitterness. 

“ 0 no ; but he imagines you do not care for 
him as he does for you. You have never in 
any way betrayed the extent of your regard 
for him, and all doubts are at an end for ever ! ’ 

“ He shall have it,” cried Cyrilla, with 
heightened colour and flashing eyes. “ I ro- 
lease him from all his vows and promises.” 

“ He desires exactly the contrary,” said 
Melanie eagerly. “ He has requested me to 
induce you to consent to — a — private — mar- 
riage ! ” 

“ I dare not, I dare not ! ” cried Cyrilla, with 
a look of terror, but in her heart she rejoiced 
that he gave such a proof of his determination 
to reject the wealth she knew he so ardently 
desired to possess. “ Dearest Melanie,, you 
cannot advise me to take such a step ? ” 

“You say your mother consents ” be- 

gan Melanie. 

“Yes, and she dislikes long engagements 
too ; but she certainly never thought of any- 
thing of this kind, and would never permit it.” 

“ We cannot expect her to trust Edouard as 
we do. She does not know him yet,” said Me- 
lanie ; “ but let me read the rest of his letter to 
you ‘ I confess without hesitation, that I have 
not my father’s or uncle’s stem rectitude of 
character. I cannot, unmoved, see any woman 
suffer ; and this weakness has been the cause 
of all my embarrassments. Even idolizing 
Cyrilla, as you know I do, I will not, cannot 
answer for myself, if I must submit to the ordeal 
of a few scenes such as I know await me in 
Berlin. Nothing but the most solemn engage- 
ment — nothing but a previous marriage can 
enable me to brave them, tlse, therefore, all 
your influence to induce Cyrilla to consent to 
my plan. Chance favours us : a young clergy- 
man, a friend of mine, to whom I have just 
had an opportunity of being useful, is now in 
Spa, which, you know, is so near Aix that we 
can go there any day we please. In trusting 
this young man, we run no risk. I am con- 
vinced that we may depend on his secrecy. 
Tell Cyrilla that my life’s happiness is in her 
hands, and entreat her not to drive me* to des- 
pair by being inexorable.’ ” 

Melanie paused, folded up her letter, and 
then said : “ Your answer, Cyrilla ; 1 must 
write.” 

“ I cannot consent Melanie,” she added 

uneasily. “ Do you think that Edouard has 
been quite candid with us ? Do you not find 
this proposal of the Sommerfelds odd — in fact, 
indelicate, if we may not suppose a — previous 
engagement ? ” 

“Not at all, my dear,” said Melanie impa- 
tiently, “ the people are enormously rich, wish 
for rank, and take it for granted he must be 
merely mafing difficulties to enhance his value 

Though you cannot, I can , imagine him 

spending hours with the nervous, melancholy 
sister (jf his friend, and notl ing more natural 


*4 


CYRILLA. 


than that she should take a fancy to him, and 
determine to indulge it like a spoiled child, as 
she no doubt is. Come, Cyrilla, relent a little 

or Edouard may go to Berlin without 

seeing you l ” 

“Let him go!” cried Cyrilla, petulantly. 

“ After he has passed his ordeal, as he calls it, 

I shall have more confidence in him.” 

“ Are you serious ? ” 

“ Perfectly ; but he has no idea of going to 
Berlin. I feel sure he will come here and 

insist 0, how I wish I could go home until 

all these difficulties were removed ! You see 
he is unreasonable in his demands : no assur- 
ances, no promises will satisfy him ! ” 

“ He loves ' ” cried Melanie, enthusiastically ; 
« an( i in your place I could more than pardon : 
I should rejoice to find him unreasonable ! Had 
Valentin Englmann possessed such energy and 
ardour, how different would have been my 
fate ; but he only talked of the deprivations to 
which I might be subjected, the trials I should 

have to endure, and himself proposed urged 

me to yield to the wishes of my family ! ” 

“ 1 cannot help thinking he was very un- 
selfish,” said Cyrilla. 

“ Aud I cannot help thinking,” rejoined Me- 
lanie, “that it -is a great pity you could not 
make up your mind to marry Rupert. I per- 
ceive every day more and more that he was 
right when he "said you would suit each other 
exactly. The measure of passionless regard 
which would have perfectly satisfied him will 
drive poor Edouard to distraction l ” 

She left the room while uttering the last 
words ; $nd the letter which she then wrote 
brought Zorndorff to Aix immediately. A 
siormy scene ensued, in which Cyrilla showed 
more firmness than he had expected ; and he, 
in consequence, adopted a system of acting but 
too well calculated to work on the feelings of 
a youthful and warm heart. He pretended to 
be offended at her having questioned him 
again about his connexion with the Sommer- 
felds ; indignant at her doubting his word ; 
and then quarrelled with her in the most de- 
cided manner. All intercourse between them 
ceased. He never by any chance addressed 
her — avoided her whenever he could do so 
without rudeness — and gave full play to the 
naturally melancholy expression of his beauti- 
ful countenance. At first Cyrilla was angry; 
then she became offended ; at last unhappy. 
The President began by degrees to perceive a 
change in the manners of, his gay sister-in-law. 
She seldom sang, no longer made amusing 
sketches, and complained not un frequently of 
fatigue during their walks. Zorndorff never 
accompanied them after the first day, and had 
also declined joining any of their excursions in 
the neighbourhood, although in his letters he 
had been the first to propose them. The 
President was sorry for Cyrilla, but highly ap- 
proved of his nephew’s supposed prudence. 

To Cyrilla a continuance of this state of 
affairs became intolerable. All her efforts to 
conceal her sufferings from her tormentor were 
vain. She knew that he read every feeling of 
her heart, but he did not apparently triumph 
in her struggles. He evidently became him- 
self from day to day more depressed. 


At length she summoned courage one morn- 
ing to sit down beside the President, and quietly 
but resolutely requested him to make arrange- 
ments for her immediate return home. While 
she was still speaking, Zorndorff entered the 
room, and involuntarily her voice sank, while 
her colour rose in the presence of the unwished- 
for auditor. The President paused for more 
than a minute before he answered : “ Of course, 
of course, ,my dear child, if you wish it; but 
you must promise to return to us again in a 
few months — in a very few months. You have 
become the life of our house, Cyrilla, and I 
should like to keep you altogether now.” 

“ You are very kind,” she said, with a faint 
smile, and then added, in a still lower voice : 
“ Mamma, in her last letter, seemed so anxious 
for my return, that if you could manage it, I 
should like to leave to morrow.” 

“To-morrow!” he exclaimed. “Why, to- 
morrow you are going to Spa.” 

“ 1 don’t intend to go to Spa.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” said the President, with some 
surprise ; “ and yet I remember hearing you 
say you wished to see the ruins of Franchimont, 
and that you intended to buy a work-box for 
your sister.” As Cyrilla was silent, he con- 
tinued : “ Melanie will not give up the party 
to Spa, I fear ; but a day more or less is of 
little importance. We shall return to Exfort 
the end of this week, and then you can have 
Madame Ehrhardt from Freilands to travel 
home with you.” 

Accustomed to dictate, he considered further 
discussion needless ; and, having looked at his 
watch, gathered up his papers and left the 
room. Cyrilla rose precipitately, intending to 
follow him, but Zorndorff sprang forward, and 
whispered a few words of such urgent entreaty, 
that she stopped. Some reproaches followed ; 
then entreaties for forgiveness, if he had 
offended ; finally, a passionate appeal to her 
heart. Cyrilla hesitated — pardoned — and then 
— burst into tears. Zorndorff saw his advan- 
tage, and pursued it. ‘Those who have had 
“love passages” in their lives (and who has 
not?) know how difficult it is to quarrel again 
at the very moment of reconciliation ; when 
Zorndorff, with fervid earnestness and tearful 
eyes, again whispered ; “ You will go to jSpa ?” 
She had not courage to say no, and all her 
efforts afterwards to moderate his expectations 
were vain. He left her to make the necessary 
arrangements with 'Melanie. 

While still standing motionless in a state of 
painful mental bewilderment, her two elderly 
friends came to remind her of her promise to 
walk with them. Almost mechanically, she 
that day moved on between them, but was so 
silent and abstracted, that, after a few fruitless 
efforts to enliven her, they also became taci- 
turn, the thoughts of both ceutred in her, bu 4 
were as different as could well be imagined. 

♦ 

CHAPTER XIX. 

“What are you about, Edouard?” cried 
General the next day, when he saw his 
rather ostentatiously cramming the poc ? 


C Y R I L L A. 


of the carriage with booke. “ What are you 
about? Was there ever such a dull, insensi- 
ble fellow in this world? One would think 
you were going to travel with me or your 

uncle 7 if you can read in such society, I 

disown you altogether.” 

“And I adopt him,” cried the President, 
with unusual warmth. “Edouard, you are 
acting like a man of honour, and 1 admire 
$nd appreciate your conduct more than I can 
here express; but you understand me.” 

He did ; and as he bent forward, under 
retence of assisting his aunt in her search for 
er note-book, he blushed in that dim, scarce- 
ly perceptible manner peculiar to very pale 
men ; but the veins on his temple swelled high 
and purple at the praise which he felt at that 
moment he did not deserve in the sense it had 
been bestowed on him. As they drove off, 
he consoled himself witli the idea that his 
unpremeditated quarrel with Cyrilla, and no 
effort on his part, had, on the present occa- 
sion, tended to deceive his uncle. 

Spa is about ten leagues from Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle, and is situated in the mountains of the 
Ardennes, occupying a valley, round which 
hills covered with woods form an amphi- 
theatre, and give it various and picturesque 
environs that tempt the inhabitants to con- 
tinual excursions. To the well-known ruins 
of Franchimont the travellers went at once. 
They thought they might be questioned 
about them, or the view from them, and 
they wished to have the ensuing morning 
free. 

The use which Zorndorff and Cyrilla made 
of this freedom, was to bind themselves by 
vows as solemn as they were secret. It was 
at the Geroustere spring, about two miles 
from Spa, that they met the clergyman ; and 
in the keeper’s house, where he had procured 
a room for them, the marriage ceremony was 
performed ; not, however, until Zorndorff had 
explained at some length to his very dissatis- 
fied, and evidently most unwilling friend, that 
whatever legal formalities had been omitted 
from want of time, should be “carefully at- 
tended to subsequently, and that at all events 
there was every probability that the cere- 
mony would be performed again at some not 
very distant period in a more public manner, 
and in presence of their mutual relations. 
When they were to exchange rings, as is usual 
in Germany, there was an embarrassed pause. 
Zorndorff, after a moment’s hesitation, drew 
from the little finger of his left hand a small 
but very massively-set seal-ring, on which 
his arms were engraved, and placed it on the 
third finger of Cyrilla’s Hght hand (the left is 
only used to denote a left-handed or unequal 
marriage), then took from her a small twist- 
ed hoop, gave it the place previously occu- 
pied by his signet, and murmured, as he did 
so, the words, “ for ever.” 

After their return to Spa, when speaking 
of this circumstance, and laughing about hav- 
ing forgotten the mystic sign of eternity, 
Zorndorff told Cyrilia that at their second 
marriage he would reclaim his ring, but that 
hers should never leave his finger, and was 
iestined to a 'company him to the grave. 

“And this second marriage?” cried Me- 

r» 


lanie, eagerly, “when is it likely to take 
place?” 

“ That depends on circumstances over 
which I have na control,” replied Zorndorff 
gravely. 

“It will not, I hope, be necessary ever to 
mention what occurred this morning at the 
Geroustere,” continued Melanie, walking up 
and down the room uneasily. “ Wilhelm 

would be furious I am beginning to 

think it was a very unadvised — 

hasty act I I wish to heaven I had 

not consented.” 

She felt that she had more than consented 
— she had promoted. After a long pause she 
began again : “A painful presentiment of evil 
is coming over me. Cyrilla your mo- 
ther Edouard, your father 

Good gracious, how can you talk in that way, 
and be happy at such a moment ? ” 

This was addressed to her companions, but 
they heard her not. Seated together on a 
sofa, they seemed to have no thought but for 
each other. Cyrilla smiled and blushed, while 
Zorndorff whispered bright visions of future 
happiness, and assurances that the ensuing 
two or three years would be more endurable 
to them both,- now that the doubts and anxi- 
eties of an uncertain engagement were at an 
end, and they could enjoy the tranquillizing 
certainty that, happen what would, they 
were bound to each other for life. As Mela- 
nie appoached them, Cyrilla drew her down 
beside her ; while Zorndorff continued talk- 
ing, totally undisturbed by her presence. 
She listened, and tried to forget her appre- 
hensions, but in vain : his unusually high 
spirits alarmed her more and more ; she pro- 
posed ordering the carriage to return to Air. 
He would not listen to her ; and when she 
commenced a half earnest expostulation with 
Cyrilla, he playfully waved her away, say- 
ing that no one should in future interfere be- 
tween him and his wife. 

Melanie tried to laugh, but tears stood in 
her eyes as she walked to a window and 
watched some black clouds which began to 
gather over the town, foreboding a thunder- 
storm, With the first Hash of lightning a. 
light travelling carriage appeared in thtr 
street, and dashed furiously on towards tb*- 
hotel. “ Edouard, Edouard,” she exclaimed, 
almost breathlessly, “here is your father, and. 
I do believe your uncle is with him.” 

“ What the devil has brought them here ? *' 
cried Zorndorff, starting up. “ Did they say 
anything to you about intending to come? * 

“ On the contrary, they both refused, and 
said nothing would induce thenr to submit to 
the examination of their luggage on the fron- 
tiers ; and yet your father’s carriage is packed 
as if for a long journey, and your servant that 
you purposely left at Aix is with him.” 

“Then,” said Zorndorff, “he has got letters 
from those cursed Sommerfelds, who seem 
determined to hunt me down. Any woman 
but Margaret would have perceived long ago 
that I all but — hated her. Cyrilla, dearest* 
our trials are beginning sooner than I sx=* 
pected; my father is violent, and a stosm is 
now inevitable, but it is unnecessary that 
you should witness it — I will meet him alorns. 


N. 


66 


CYRILLA 


If he insist on my go mg with him at once to 
Berlin, I shall consent; it will be but two 
days sooner than I intended — and watched 
by him and my uncle, as I should be in case 
I refused, we could enjoy but little of each 
other’s society.” He left the room by one 
door as his father and the President entered 
by another. 

They looked round with some surprise ; it 
was evident they had expected to find him 
where, in fact, he had been a few minutes 
before. The President said something about 
“ business ” — a word which his lips seemed 
to form from habit ; the General asked for 
his son, and on hearing Melanie’s answer, pre- 
pared to seek him. The President drew him 
aside, and whispered, “Do not be too hasty: 
though he confessed that he admired, he has 
so evidently avoided her of late, that I am 
still inclined to think he has not spoken to 
her — perhaps she knows nothing at all about 
the matter. Before you see him, let me at 
least question Melanie.” He turned to his 
wife, and in his most solemn and severe man- 
ner requested her to accompany him into the 
adjoining room. 

Cyrilla looked anxiously towards the Gen- 
eral; she knew he liked her, and all her 
hopes now centered in him. Though aware 
that she dared not confess what had occurred 
that morning, she wished him to speak to 
her about his son ; she thought he might be 
induced to give up his mercenary plans for 
him, if aware of their mutual attachment, 
and she now felt that she could acknowledge 
hers without reserve. Surely a man who 
could speak so gently, and look so kindly, 
mu*t value affection more than money ! Cy- 
rilla’s furtive glance towards her usually 
cheerful companion made her heart sink ; he 
appeared to have suddenly grown taller, as 
with head erect, his arms folded, his brows 
contracted, his lips firmly pressed together, 
he impatiently paced the long apartment, 
stopping however, occasionally, to fix his 
dark searching eyes upon her face. There 
was something terrific in his glance, some- 
thing which she did not understand, but she 
recoiled before it and felt alarmed. Perhaps 
he observed this, for the firmness of his step 
relaxed, he stopped more frequently, and at 
length said, “ I am sorry you have seen me 
in this state of irritation ; l fear it may eradi- 
cate any more agreeable impressions I may 
have been so fortunate as to have made on 
you, during our six weeks’ acquaintance.” 

“ You have made me a little afraid of you 
I confess,” answered Cyrilla, attempting to 
smile; “I am not at all courageous — a loud 
word, or an angry look, intimidates me at 
once.” 

“ That is the very last thing in the world 
I should wish to do,” said the General, still 
standing erect before her. “ I have received 
letters of a most unpleasant, most painful de- 
scription, but — but — if you have nothing to 
do with this unfortunate affair — or if you are 
only unconsciously the cause, why, I have no 
right — I have no wish — in fact, you cannot 
change your nature, and become disagreeable 
instead of charming, or ugly instead of — of — 
pshaw \ ” and he again commenced his walk. 


“ I have no wish to be either disagreeable 
or ugly,” observed Cyrilla, demurely looking 
up at him. 

“ To know you well, and not to — like — 
you, is impossible,” began the General after 
a pause. 

“ I am very glad to hear you say so,” re- 
joined Cyrilla, once more breathing freely; 
“there is no one I have ever taken so much 
pains to please as you.” 

“ Indeed ! I feared it was the vanity in- 
herent to man, which sometimes made me 
imagine this : my natural understanding re- 
fused to believe that one like you could feel 
any interest in an old soldier such as I am.” 

“ I never saw you look old until just now,” 
said Cyrilla, “ and it was not exactly old 
either, *but terrible. I think you have made 
me even more afraid of you than I am of the 
President, and yesterday I could have spoken 
to you as I would to — to — Melanie.” 

“I wish,” he said, leaning over the end 
of the sofa, while his features by degrees 
began to resume their usual expression, “ I 
wish you would forget having seen me angry.” 

“1 cannot, until you have been for some 
time quite yourself again.” 

He paused, and seemed to deliberate. “ I 
do not quite understand you,” he began 
slowly ; “ may I ask you a question or two ? ” 

“As many as you please,” answered Cy- 
rilla, hoping that at last he was about to 
mime his son. 

“ You said just now, that you had taken 
trouble to please me. You did so, perhaps, 
and now tell me so without reserve, because 
lam old enough to be — your father ? ” 

Cyrilla blushed and turned away her head. 

“ And you sang all that old-fashioned 
music I brought you — merely to humour the 
fancies of an old man ? ” 

There was something so gentle, so resigned, 
in the kalf-sigh with .which this was said, 
that Cyrilla looked up with some surprise, 
and said-, “ I never thought about your age, 
I sang whatever and whenever you desired 
it, because I wished you to like me.” 

“You would not., however, be so candid,” 
observed the General, smiling, “ if I were a 
score of v T ears jmunger? ” 

“ Perhaps not.” 

“And suppose,” he continued, “suppose 
besides liking, I were to admire } T ou as if I 
were that score of years younger f ” 

“Like and admire me as much as you 
please,” said Cyrilla, “ but never again look 
at me as you did just now ! ” 

“ Never 1 ” exclaimed the General, and 
snatching her hand, he pressed it to his lips ; 
a moment after, it seemed to furn to a tor- 
pedo within his grasp — he gazed at it as if 
all his faculties had become benumbed. 
Cyrilla saw that his eyes were fixed on the 
ring she had that morning received from 
Zorndorff ; she saw that he recognized it, and 
was not sorry that the unusual form of the 
shield and heavy setting spared her the 
pain of a partial explanation which she ra- 
ther desired than otherwise. To remove any 
lingering doubts, he raised her hand so as to 
let the light fall on the seal, and immediately 
perceived his own arms. “That ring,” hm 


OYRILLA. 


•aid slowly, “ lias been given you by Edouard 
— my son.” 

Cyrilla did not speak, and he continued, 
“ I fear, I greatly fear, he did not tell you 
how it came into his possession, or you would 
have preferred any other gift, perhaps have 
refused to accept of any one from him.” 

Cyrilla looked up inquiringly. 

“ You haye most probably never heard the 
name of Margaret von Sommerfeld ? ” 

“ Count Zorndorff spoke of her as a person 
that you very much wished him to marry 
” began Cyrilla. 

• “ A person that he very much wished to 
marry,” said the General, sternly ; “ a per- 
son whose affections he sought and gained 
many years ago, while still a student. At 
that time he wished to marry, but I feared 
his giving up his profession, and her father 
equally dreaded his want of steadiness; it 
was therefore postponed, but after a long 
and dangerous illness, from which she is 
scarcely yet' recovered, a solemn betrothal 
took place, and that was the ring she gave 
him in the presence of all her assembled re- 
lations. The successive deaths of a sister 
and two brothers have hitherto prevented 
the fulfilment of this engagement, but her 
father is now dying, and wishes for the mar- 
riage without further delay. Henceforward 
procrastination becomes treachery towards a 
woman whose affection has been undeviating 
so many years — who has stood all the vari- 
ous trials to which he has not scrupled to 
subject her, and whose life, they say, depends 
on his future conduct to her. What his in- 
tentions or wishes may be now, I shall not 
inquire, he is bound in honour to make Mar- 
garet his wife — and his wife she shall be,” 
he added again, walking up and down the 
room, “his wife she shall be before many 
weeks are over.” 

Cyrilla, completely confounded by this 
lucid statement, the truth of which she did 
not for a moment doubt, sat stupified, until 
he pronounced the last words. Their dire 
import to her, however, roused her at once, 
and, clasping her hands, she stammered: 
“ But he does not care for her ; he does not 
like her ! ” 

“ He did care for her, or pretended to do 
ro, which is the same thing in the eyes of 
the world. Her brothers are dead, her father 
dying, she has no near relation to call him 
to account ; but I have promised to be her 
guardian, and I have never yet broken a pro- 
mise, nor shall 'a son of mine do so. I would 
rather,” he added, vehemently, “I would 
rather see him, with all his youth, talent, 
and beauty, stretched on his bier, than that 
a shade of dishonour should pass over our 
house ! ” 

He left her, and she sat in a sort of stupor, 
4he knew not how long. Her sister and the 
President entered the room ; she heard the 
former reproach her husband for having kept 
her in ignorance of so important a circum- 
stacne as her nephew’s engagement, and 
heard the President answer: 

“ I should have told you long ago, Melanie, 
had you been as reasonable as you are a 
•lever woman. Your actions are irreproacli- 


able, but your theories are of so fantastic and 
romantic a description, that I feared when yon 
discovered that prudence more than love had 
directed Edouard’s choice, you might have 
endeavoured to disgust him with the pros- 
pect of comfort and affluence that awaited 
him.” 

“Comfort and affluence!” repeated Mela- 
nie, disdainfully. “*Say, rather, that you 
and his father wish him to sell himself" for 
gold!” 

“He chose for himself,” rejoined the Presi- 
dent, “ of his own free will ; what his motives 
were I can only surmise. His father ’ is not 
mercenary, and would never have required 
him to improve his fortune by marriage ; but 
having pledged himself as he has done, he 
has now only the alternative of honour or dis- 
honour.” 

Melanie approached Cyrilla, and whis- 
pered: “I have confessed nothing; for my 
sake, for heaven’s sake, be silent, and trust to 
Edouard.” 

Oyriiia bent her head, without attempting 
to speak. 

The General and his son entered the room 
immediately afterwards. Never had their 
resemblance to each other been so apparent 
as at the moment when, pale and agitated, 
they both came towards Cyrilla to take leave. 
The former murmured a few scarcely intel- 
ligible words, and then turned to the Presi- 
dent and Melanie.’ Zorndorff stood still and 
contemplated Cyrilla, as she sat, or rather 
reclined on the sofa, pale, her eyes cast down, 
and trembling in all the apprehension of the 
explosion of family ire which she momentarily 
expected. 

“ Come,” cried the General, hastily ; “delay 
is worse than useless now.” 

“I cannot leave her so,” cried Zorndorff: 
“ Let me speak to her ; I ask but a few min- 
utes — alone,” he added, looking round the 
room, “or at least only in presence of my 
aunt.” 

His father moved towards the door, as if t :> 
comply with his request. The Presiden. 
stopped him: “Edouard can have nothing to 
say which we may not hear ; he has evidently 
been less candid &an he ought to have been 
with Cyrilla. Let him express his regret 
and ” 

“Ungenerous!” exclaimed Zorndorff, an- 
grily. “I might insist but no matter 

your presence may be a restraint to 

her — to me it shall be none. Cyrilla, dearest 
Cyrilla ! ” he cried, seating himself beside hei 
in the very place he had occupied before his 
father's arrival. “Will you endeavour to 
believe that my ungovernable love has alone 
induced me to deceive you about this most 
unfortunate engagement?” You must re- 
member how long I avoided you! — how I 
struggled with my .traitorous inclinations!” 

Cyrilla remembered but too well. 

“You will not answer? Give me at least 
your hand in token of forgiveness.” 

‘ The hand was as cold as ice, .and some tears 
from Zorndorff ’s eyes fell upon it. “Speak, 
Cyrilla,” he said, in a voice choked by emo 
tion. “I prefer reproaches to this silence.” 

“ Tell me what I may say,” she 


«8 


C TRILL A. 


murmured, slowly, “ and I will say it 

if I can.” 

Zorndorff felt all the meaning of these 
words, and answered, hurriedly : “ Say that 
you forgive — that you will endeavour to for- 
get that I have deceived you ; say that you 
will still rely on me, and believe in my un- 
alterable affection.” 

“She may forgive you, Edouard,” said his 
father, stepping forward; “but to your af- 
fection she can have no further claim.” 

“Speak, Cyrilla ” cried Zorndorff, be- 

seechingly, without appearing to have heard 
his fathers words. 

“I forgive ” faltered Cyrilla. 

“ And you will rely on me, no matter how 
much appearances may be against me. You 
will believe that in heart and soul I am yours, 
let what will occur? ” 

Again his father attempted • to interfere. 
Zorndorff waved his hand impatiently, and 
continued, in a low impassioned voice: “Cy- 
rilla, you once said that you would wait 
years — a life — if necessary ; these were your 
words — your own words ! Promise, oh pro- 
mise me that now ! ” 

“She shall not! ” cried the President, com- 
ing towards them with a frown of displeasure. 
“She shall not! How dare you ask her to 
speculate on death — to rejoice over a grave? 
Thoughts less defined than thesd Edouard, 
nave led to crimes of the deepest die.” 

“ Promise — promise,” reiterated Zorndorff, 
still more vehemently, as he drew her unre- 
sisting form towards him. 

“Can I do otherwisa?” she whispered. 
“ Am I not bound to you for life I ” 

“Cyrilla,” began the President, severely, 
“ I know not how to express my astonishment 
at conduct so unlike what I expected from 
you if these whispered words were in- 
deed the promise he ” 

“Enough — enough,” cried Zorndorff, start- 
ing from the sofa ; “ delay is torture now — let 
us go.” 

He left the room, followed by his father 
and uucle. Cyrilla clasped her hands, and 
sat motionless, until roused by the sound of a 
departing carriage; then she pressed her 
hand over her eyes, looked round the room, 
approached her sister, who was sitting at a 
little distance, and fixing her eyes on her 
earnestly, she said, slowly, “Is not this like 
a dreadful dream? to see, and hear, and sit 
spell-bound, not daring to speak! How will 
all this end ? ” 

“Heaven knows,” answered Melanie, de- 
spondingly. “Wilhelm sa}^s that the en- 
gagement is of a peculiarly binding descrip- 
tion ; that at Edouard’s own request papers 
have oeen signed and countersigned, and I 
know not what all ! Edouard’s silence may 
be excused on the plea of headstrong passion 
dreading a check ; but Wilhelm’s systematic 
secrecy towards me is unpardonable.” 

“ What was it he said about death and a 
grave?” asked Cyrilla, anxiously. 

“ I don’t know, dear ; I was so afraid that 
Edouard, in a moment of irritation, would 
confess your marriage, that I paid little at- 
tention to any one but him ; most probably 
it was something about that woman ...... 


Wilhelm says she is in a very precarious 
state of health.” 

“ Perhaps he meant that she might die 

and if she should, may not I be indirectly tha 
cause ? 0 Melanie,” she added, kneeling be- 

side her sister, and resting her head on the 
arm of her, chair, “pray with me, pray for 
me, foi*you have helped to lead me into this 
temptation.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

Cyrilla returned home. The disastrous oc- 
currences just related had so shaken her re- 
liance on her sister’s jndgment that she felt a 
feverish impatience to be with her mother, 
an intense longing to confide in her, and a 
determination to confess without reserve all 
that had happened since they parted ; but 
when she again saw the emaciated form, hol- 
low cheeks, and sunken eyes of her parent, 
fear took possession of her mind, and she no 
longer possessed the necessary courage for 
the confession of an error which began to 
assume the appearance of a crime, now that 
she was deprived of Melanie’s plausible argu- 
ments to palliate it. 

Yet no material change had taken place 
either in the Baroness Carl’s health or ap- 
pearance. For years she had suffered from 
a chronic disease of the heart ; for years she 
had known that she was dying. She had 
often 6poke of it, and her children had, a® 
is usual in such cases, thought her hypo 
cliondriacal, and at last had learned to listen 
with a s^rt of melancholy patience to the ad- 
monitions an*L directions which she frequent- 
ly gave, as if solemnly dictating her will. A 
few months’ absence had removed from Cy 
rilla’s eyes the veil of habit. She had become 
conscious of the. ✓slow progressive work of 
decay which had formerly escaped her no- 
tice ; and P’ernanda’s quiet manner of listen- 
ing and answering when her mother spoke of 
death now appeared to her perfectly incom- 
prehensible. It was in vain her sister assur- 
ed her, when they were alone, that theii 
mother had suffered less during the^past sum- 
mer than she had done for years, — that she 
had even grown stronger. Cyrilla saw death 
in every feature, in every lauguid movement ; 
and whenever the Baroness Carl made the 
most distant allusion to it, she lost all com- 
mand of herself, and frequently was obliged 
to rush out of the room. 

Thus compelled to keep her unfortunate 
secret, Cyrilla had never been able to show 
any of ZorndorfFs letters, to either her mother 
or sister ; but though evidently surprised, 
they refrained from making any remark that 
might pain or embarrass her. When, how- 
ever, these letters from week to week became 
less satisfactory, containing mere vows ot 
unalterable affection, mixed with some vague 
hopes of better times, and all reference to the 
Sommerfeld family carefully avoided, Cyrilla 
could scarcely conceal her daily increasing 
anxiety. The short, despairing, incoherent 
lines that afterwards reached her from time 
to time made her suppose that a crisis wai 


C TRILL A 


tear, and each letter was opened in the ex- 
pectation that it would at least put an end 
to a state of suspense that was becoming 
quite intolerable. 

Her aunt, who had passed the summer in 
one of those beautifully situated villas in the 
immediate vicinity of Salzburg, returned to 
>lie town when the weather became cold. 
She found Cyrilla dispirited and looking very 
pale ; questioned her a good deal about Ru- 
pert, Freilands, and the Lindesmars, especi- 
ally Virginie ; and then, wdiile arranging in 
their usual places the china figures, flacons, 
and monsters that invariably accompanied 
her to and from the country, she gave her 
a succinct account of the officers of the newly 
arrived regiment, who had all been present- 
ed to and had visited her directly after their 
arrival, and was not a little provoked at the 
apparent apathy of her hearer. Even the 
intelligence that Rupert’s friend, Count Gla- 
neck, had remained as colonel of the said 
regiment, and that he now came very often 
to see her, seemed neither to cause surprise 
nor interest. 

The reader may perhaps be more inclined 
to think it extraordinary that Count Glaneck, 
who, the year before, had made Polyak’s 
liaison d ’ amitie a subject of constant derision 
— who had not scrupled to banter him even 
in the presence of Rupert — should now, in a 
manner scarcely comprehensible to himself, 
have completely taken his place, and become 
as invulnerable as* his predecessor had been 
to the arrows of ridicule. It so happened 
that his slight acquaintance of a year with 
the Baroness had given him a right to choose 
his own time for visiting her ; and, after long 
procrastination, he, one fine summer’s even- 
ing, when on his way home from Hellbrunn, 
turned his horse into the orchard and grass 
garden through which the short approach to 
her villa had been made. Dogs and servants 
were lounging about the door, and one of 
each guided him, not into but round the 
house, to a small additional building, one 
side of which, altogether composed of glass, 
looked out on the beautiful range of moun- 
tains towards Hallein. He ascended a few 
stone steps, and found himself in a small 
apartment, with gay chintz-covered furni- 
ture ; at the furthest end of which, behind a 
tea table, sat the Baroness, apparently en- 
gaged in a very animated conversation with 
a well-educated parrot, which, perched on 
her finger, nibbled the almonds from a cake 
which she held towards it, and then, putting 
its head to one side, inquisitively eyed the 
intruder. Colonel Glaneck was a tall, large 
man, his white dragoon uniform, his position 
before the light, and the smallness of the 
room, 'making him appear even taller and 
larger than usual. His hair was mud- 
coloured, his features irregular, and none of 
them handsome ; but the expression of his 
*ountenance, nevertheless, most agreeable, 
there was so much imperturbable repose and 
quiet good humour in it. 

His reception was neither warm nor cold. 
The Baroness spoke to him, and then to her 
parrot ; gave him a cup of tea, and then held 
ft nacaroon to Poll. It may be remembered 


St 

that she rather disliked him than otherwise , 
and had he, in the present instance, been ac- 
companied by two or three of the officers of 
his regiment, she would undoubtedly have 
given any of them the preference, and might 
still have continued to entertain an unro^ 
sonable prejudice against a man with whom 
she was, in fact, still unacquainted. But she 
had been several hours alone, was extremely 
fond of talking, and though he was rather 
dull — that is, in the best acceptation of the 
word, meaning “not exhilarating, not de- 
lightful,” — he^as by no means stupid, and 
could let himRdf be entertained as well as 
any man in Christendom, — no slight praise, 
if properly considered. The Baroness re- 
quired nothing more. She talked, he listen- 
ed with attention ; she jested, he was amus- 
ed, and showed that he was so. The evening 
wore away, and it was almost dark when he 
rose to take leave. She accompanied him to 
the stone steps, and, while pointing out and 
naming the different mountains, she gave him 
time to admire her beautiful arm, necessarily 
stretched to its fullest extent. She gave him 
also a commission to her jeweller’s, which 

obliged him to return the next day He 

' came earlier, remained to dinner, drove with 
her to Aigen, braved all the laughing saluta- 
tions of his friends on the crowded bridge 
and quay, if the good-humoured smile that 
accompanied the raising of a couple of fingers 
to his temples may be so called ; and, finally, 
having discovered that a few hours every 
day could be pleasantly spent in a room re- 
dolent of fresh flowers, possessing a diversi- 
fied and extensive view, with a person who 
was willing to accept him as listener and 
companion, he quietly performed the very 
few attentions required, received all that 
were offered, and yielded without reserve to 
the novelty of a position which, contrasting 
as it did so advantageously with the some- 
what boisterous mirth of his companions dur- 
ing the last year, suited in an unusual degree 
the tranquil indolence of his disposition. The 
Baroness’s removal to Salzburg made no 
change in his habits. Like Polyak, he con- 
sidered her nieces as pleasant acquisitions, 
and divided his attentions in precisely the 
same satisfactory manner among them. 
Though not very observant, he discovered 
before long that Cyrilla w*as pre-oocupied and 
indifferent — in short, totally unlike what h€ 
recollected her having been the year before 
and at length chose to make this his dis- 
covery the theme of a morning conversation. 
Always extremely communicative on every 
subject that did not immediately concern her- 
self, the Baroness informed him of the whole 
story of Rupert’s perverseness, told him how 
Cyrilla had been sent to. Exfort that her 
cousin might see her, how she had also gone 
to Freilands with the Falkensteins, and they 
had imagined everything would end satisfac- 
torily. “And now,” she concluded, “I feel 
convinced that she is attached to my nephew 
in that provoking sentimental sort of way 
peculiar to girls of her age, but which has 
made her quite dull and useless to me, and 
will not at all tend to recommend her to Ru- 
pert’s notice, should he come here again. 


70 


C Y R I L L A . 


Perhaps , however, a few balls and pledging 
parties may make her think less of him, 
which would be just as well, you know, un- 
til he has definitely made up his mind about 
her.” 

“ I don't wonder at her liking him ; he is 
the most good-humoured pleasant fellow I 
ever met,” observed G Inneck. 

“ He was very popular here,” said the Ba- 
roness ; “ but, for my part, I have always 
found him unmanageable, and with respect 
to Gyrilla, obstinate beyond all conception.” 

“None bmt very indolent Jten let other 
people choose wives for them, said Colonel 
Glaneck, laughing. “ I should submit to a 
thing Of that kind better than Adlerkron, I 
suspect.” 

“ That reminds me of something I intend- 
ed to tell you,” rejoined the Baroness. “Do 
you know the people here are beginning to 
say that you have taken a fancy to my niece 
Fernanda ? ” 

“ Indeed ? ” 

“Now she is a very good sensible girl,” 
continued the Baroness; “but, as your friend, 
I must inform you that a part of her dower 
will be an invalid mother and an elderly and 
very tyrannical femme de chambre ! ” 

“ Better none at all,” said the Colonel, 
quietly. 

“0, it is small enough — scarcely w T orth 
naming, for her father was a most thought- 
less extravagant man, spent his own fortune 
and as much of his wife’s as she allowed him ; 
so my nieces are extremely ill off, though they 
and their mother keep up appearances in such 
a wonderful manner.” 

“ Greatly to their credit,” said Colonel 
Glaneck. 

“Perhaps so, if they were not so insuffer- 
ably proud. I never much liked my sister- 
in-law at all events. It is quite a mistake 
her not having been a schoolmistress, or some- 
thing of that sort ! ” 

“I believe she has been a most exemplary 
mother ? ” he observed, half inquiringly. 

“ Yes — there is no denying that — few girls 
sing, paint, and dance so well as my nieces ! 
Yes — she certainly quite devoted herself to 
their education 1 ” 

“For which we never can be sufficiently 
grateful,” said Fernanda, coming from a dis- 
tant window ’where sheshad been writing 
music. “Count Glaneck,” she added, “here 
is the Barcarole you wished to have for your 
band 


“ 0, thank you ; but the Spanish song you 
promised ? ” 

“ I have not time — I — I cannot remain 
longer absent from — my invalid mother.” 

“She has heard our conversation,” said the 
Baroness, as Fernanda left the room ; “ I 
had quite forgotten that she was within hear- 
ing.” 

“So had I — and yet we were speaking to 
her not half-an-hour ago.” 

“We do not generally speak so loud as to 
be audible at that distance,” said the Baron- 
et, “ but I suppose her sister’s name caught 
her attention.” 

“ I)o you think she will repeat what she 
has heard if ” asked Colonel Glaneck. 


“Most mdoubtedly, and if she had remain* 
ed quiet she would have had more to rebate. 
I disliked my sister-in-law for a variety of 
reasons, but most especially for the admoni- 
tions and advice with which she favoured me 
about eighteen or twenty years ago ; and for 
the extraordinary influence that she gaiued 
over her brothers-in-law, so that they both, 
to the last days of their lives, were possess- 
ed with the idea that a daughter of hew 
must be the most desirable wife for Rupert 
This plan now coincides with some of my own. 
I wish to provide for Gyrilla, so that when 
my sister-in-law dies I may be able to take 
Fernanda to reside altogether with me.” 

“You will probably adopt her? ” 

“ By no means, as I do not know whether 
or not I may continue to like her as I do now 
— I — a — only thought of making her my 
companion.” 

“A very agreeable and accomplished one 
she will be,” observed Colonel Glaneck. 

“ I think she will, and then her being so 
near a relation removes all difficulties about 
her going out with me, which is particularly 
pleasant, you know ; and though she is not 
at all pretty, she contrived some way or other 
to make herself liked here last year, and al- 
ways found people to dance with, so that I 
was uot at all bored with her.” 

“ I cannot help admiring your candour,” 
said Colonel Glaneck, slightly smiling; “ others 
intending to act as you will do, would have 
endeavoured to make a merit of it.” 

The Baroness did not quite understand 
him ; she was too thorouglily selfish to be 
conscious of it, and after a short pause she 
added, as if to remove any doubts of her mo- 
tives, — “Cyrilla, you know, will certainly 
marry, in the course of a few years, either 
Rupert or some one else ; but there is no 
danger of anything of that kind for Fernan- 
da — no one will propose for her to whom I 
may not easily object! ” 

Colonel Glaneck rose with even more than 
his usual quiet gravity, refused the customary 
invitation to dinner, but promised to meet 
her at the theatre, and then walked thought- 
fully down the stairs. 

When he reached the last step of the stair- 
case, he looked around for his groom, turned 
into the yard, and not finding him there, had 
recourse to the porter’s bell ; but before he 
rang he paused to watch a postman who just 
then entered the house. The unconscious 
messenger of joy br woe half whistled as he 
sorted a packet of letters and moved towards 
the apartments of the Baroness Carl, which 
were on the right side of the entrance. An 
elderly femme de chambre opened the door. 
Colonel Glaneck knew instinctively that she 
was the “very tyrannical,” although Tiot a 
trace of that quality was discernible in the 
long, pale, almost melancholy countenance 
whiclv immediately assumed an expression of 
deep interest as she received the letter from the 
hurrying postman, who, with a nod, and the 
words, “For your young lady, as usual,’* 
sprang down the three 6teps and disappeared. 

“My horse!” said Colonel Glaneck; and 
the porter, after a look of feigned surprise, 
framed to some servants whe were in hi* 


CYRILLA 


71 


room, repeated the words, then answered: 
“Yes, Colonel — directly, Colonel ' — and re- 
tired again into his room, whence, however, 
instead of the expected groom, a boy soon 
after darted forth and ran down the street. 
Quite aware that he was an hour earlier than 
usual, Colonel Gianeck good-naturedly found 
it not only pardonable but very natural that 
his servant should get tired waiting and go 
off; perhaps he might himself have done the 
same, had he not feared it might be supposed 
that he was angry,' — a state of being in which 
he seldom indulged and never wished to ap- 
ear ; so in an absent sort of way he amused 
imself playing with one of the Baroness’s 
cross dogs, until the breathless groom return- 
ed and pantingly began to inform him that 
the horses were well off in a stable appro- 
priated exclusively to them,— *-“ a stable in 
which Count Polyak’s horses . . . 

“ Come, come, make haste — I have waited 
long enough,” cried Colonel Gianeck, with 
some impatience and a slight increase of 
colour. 

A few minutes more and he rejoiced in a 
delay which enabled him to be of use in a 
most unexpected manner, and eventually 
.turned his thoughts and kindliest feelings 
into a new channel. 

+ 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Fernanda had no intention whatever of 
repeating her aunt’s remarks to her mother. 
Their pnysician had said that mental inquie- 
tude would be injurious, and violent emotion 
of any kind might be dangerous to her; even 
in the opening and, shutting of doors the 
greatest attention had latterly become ne- 
cessary, and Fernanda’s quick decided move- 
ments had by degrees changed to the slowest 
and stealthiest that she could acquire. Had 
she found her mother dozing on the sofa, as 
she expected, it is probable she might have 
spoken to Cyrilla about Rupert, and have 
recommended her to disabuse their aunt’s 
mind on that subject the first convenient op- 
portunity; but, instead of sleeping, the Ba- 
roness Carl was sitting in an unusually up- 
right posture, and was evidently in a state 
of considerable nervous excitement. When 
her daughter entered the room, she took a 
long breath, and exclaimed : 

“Dear creature, what a palpitation you 
have given me 1 I thought when you rang 
that the postman had come; and, though 
Cyrilla has not told us, I know she has been 
expecting a letter the last week or ten days ! ” 

Cyrilla, who had been reading aloud, look- 
ed up with tearful eyes, and said earnestly : 
“ You cannot imagine with what anxiety I 
expect this next letter. I hope I may show 
it tc you, and then at last there will be an 
end to a want of confidence which I know 
has shocked you.” 

“ Do not mistake me, Cyrilla. I am sorry 
to see you so uneasy, so silent, and changed ; 
but I have no wish to read your letters until 
you wish to show them to me.” 

“ Wish ! oh how I long to show them to 


you ! If I were sure that there was no i an- 
ger of your having one of those suffocating 

palpitations if you could only promise 

me not to be alarmed or agitated ” 

“ A few years ago I could, under any cir- 
cumstances, have made such a promise ; but 
for me that time of strength is past — gone 
for ever,” she answered, with a deep sigh. 

“ I have hitherto consoled mys' f with the 
idea that, after all, there can be nothing in 
the letters that I cannot imagine, or do not 
already know. The impediments to your 
marriage am^ar to me, it is true, rather 
chimerical. Count Zorndorff is not rich, but 
the interest vuiich his uncle may have pro- 
mised to use for his preferment will scarcely 
be withheld because he has chosen to share 
it with you.” 

“ But, mamma, you always seem to forget 
that the President wishes him to marry a 
woman of large fortune who is now in Ber- 
lin.” 

“No, I have not forgotten it ; but relatione 
so often wish these things without producing 
the desired results, that I have learned to 
consider wishes next to nothing. You^are 
not perhaps aware, that years ago both your 
uncles, and, until very lately, your aunt and 
I, wished that you should marry your cousin 
Rupert.” 

Cyrilla showed none of the surprise her 
mother expected. She bent her head over 
her book, and murmured something of Ru 
pert having told her so. 

“You seem to have been on very good 
terms, and to have spoken very unreservedly 7 
to each other,” observed her mother. “I 
find it difficult to understand your mutual 
indifference still more so your prefer- 

ence for Count Zorndorff, as, from various 
trifling occurrences that you have carelessly 
related to me, I cannot help thinking Rupert 
infinitely more amiable than he is ! ” 

“I imagined you too just to judge any one 
from trifling occurrences,” said Cyrilla, re- 
proachfully. 

“ It is the best — the surest means of judg- 
ing correctly,” answered her mother. “ On 
great or important occasions people delibe- 
rate, and not unfrequently balance their 
selfish inclinations against the applause' of 
the world ; but in the everyday trifling occur- 
rences of life, when subject to little blame 
and less praise, the true character and incli- 
nations show themselves without reserve.” 

“ O, I never thought about all that,” said 
Cyrilla, smiling. “You must not expect me ' 
to be wise like you or Fernanda for the next 
ten years at least.” 

“Are you,” said her mother, with some 
hesitation, — “ Are you quite sure that Count 
Zorndorff s personal beauty did not influence 
you more than it ought to have done ? Me- 
lanie’s description of him, and that picture 
which he sent you ” 

At this moment the bell rang, and Cyrilla 
started up eagerly, j oy fully, hope ever ia 
sanguine minds like hers suggesting future 
happiness, till chased by stern reality Be- 
fore breaking the seal of her letter, ghe stoop- 
ed down and lightly kissed the already half- 
averted cheek of her mother, who unwilling 


u 


CYRJLLa 


0 


to embarrass hei by an appearance of unusual 
otservation, turned to Fernanda, and began 
to speak on some uninteresting subject with 
forced composure. The sound of audibly 
•hort-drawn breathing soon, however, made 
her look anxiously towards Cyrilla. She 
saw her standing with her eyes riveted on 
the letter, while her whole frame trembled 
violently. Her respiration quickly changed 
to a succession of convulsive sighs ; and at 
length, after looking wildly round her, she 
threw herself into a chair, and burst into a 

f >assion of tears of such overwhelming vio- 
ence that her sister sprang^owards her, 
while her mother, rapidly changing colour, 
slowly rose, and, grasping the intervening 
table for support, extended her hand and 
demanded the letter. 

“ ISo, no, no, no ! ” cried Cyrilla vehe- 
mently. 

“ Give me the letter,” repeated her mother, 
n the voice of quiet authority, which Cy- 
rilla had not forgotten, though she had not 
heard it for years, — “ Give me the letter : 

this is something which I must and 

ought to know.” 

She took it, crushed and blotted with tears, 
from her daughter’s hand, and read, — 

“ Ere this can possibly reach }'ou, Melanie 
will have told you all. My uncle himself 
had the consideration to propose her being 
the bearer of the fatal intelligence. You 
have heard, then, of my breach of faith and 
loss of honour. You know that while my 
heart and vows belonged to you, I have, in 
the most public manner, become the wretched 
husband of Margaret von Sommerfeld. That 
I have so acted in order to save her life, 1 
hope you will believe ; my crime is great 
•iiougli without the imputation of motives of 
ordid interest being added to it. I dare not 
isk your forgiveness ; but venture to remind 
you that you once said you ^would wait years 
— a life ! ’ These words are now my last, 
my only hope. — Z orndo®t.” 

“ This is a hard trial, my poor child,” said 
her mother, slowly approaching her ; “ but,” 
6he added with apparent difficulty of utter- 
ance, — “ but no uncommon 

one.” 

Cyrilla knew the contrary, and yielded to 
a fresh parox}’sm of grief. Her mother’s 
arms were thrown round her, and she heard 
some unintelligible words murmured in her 
ear, returning the embrace with all the fer- 
vour of utter despair. It was some time be- 
fore she perceived the relaxation of the grasp, 
the drcoping of the head, the gradual sinking 
of her mother to the very ground. Iler ex- 
clamation of alarm made Fernanda look up 
from ZorndorfFs letter, which she was read- 
ing, and rush towards her ; but when, be- 
tween them, the emaciated sufferer had been 
placed on the sofa, the still flushed face, 
distorted features, and slightly protruding 
tongue, made them instantly aware that it 
was no common fainting-fit. As Cyrilla be- 
an to applv all the simple remedies within 
er reach, Fernanda, more alarmed than she 
had ever* been in all her life, sought Justine, 
and having given her i few hurried direc- 
tions, rat. towards the porter’s apartment, 


and was endeavouring breathlessly to mak« 
the phlegmatic,, deaf old man comprehend 
the necessity of going instantly for their 
physician, when Colonel Glaneck joined her, 
and in a moment understood what had hap- 
pened ; requesting her to trust the commission 
to him, he mounted his horse and rode impet 
uously down the street. 

Short as was the time which intervened 
before lie returned — to Fernanda and Cyrilla 
it appeared an eternity. The slight indica- 
tions which their mother had given of re- 
turning consciousness had altogether ceased ; 
a rigid placidity seemed to. steal over her 
features, as by degrees they regained their 
usual position. Unremittingly and with un- 
wearied care, every remedy, rendered fami- 
liar b} T long practice, was tried ; nor were 
they all exhausted when the well-known 
voice of Dr. I’aur changed the undefined 
fears into hopes equally undefined, but buoy- 
ant — irrepressible as hopes in such cases al- 
ways are. 

During the half-hour of anxious expecta- 
tion that ensued, Colonel Glaneck, deeply in- 
terested in all he had 6een and heard, and 
hoping he might again in some way make 
himself useful, walked up and dcw r n the little 
ante-room, usually occupied by Justine, won- 
dering a good deal at the unbroken silence 
that prevailed in the adjoining apartments. 
At length lie heard the sound of a carriage 
entering the usually quiet street — a faint dis- 
tant blast of a horn — accelerated motion — a 
rumbling — clattering — then the heavy en- 
trance-gates grated on their hinges, and, with 
a noise that seemed to cause vibration in the 
house itself, the Counter Falkenstein’s car- 
riage rolled under the archwa}\ A large bell, 
close to Colonel Glaneck, was violently rung, 
and, before he had time to open the door 
Melanie already stood before it. With a pre- 
cipitation most unusual to her, she hurried 
forward, and was about to pass on without a 
glance or word of inquiry, when it occurred 
to him that he ought to prepare her in some 
way for what she was likely to witness in 
her stepmother’s apartments. lie stopped 
her, and began an explanation ; but no sooner 
had he pronounced the -word “letter” than 
she interrupted him, exclaiming — 

“ What letter ? — from whom ? ” 

“ I have not the most remote idea : I sup- 
posed it was from you, and that you had 
communicated the death of some friend or 
relation ” 

“Too late! too late! Oh that I had ar- 
rived an hour earlier!” she cried, rushing 
past him into the house. 

Dr. Paur had just turned away from the 
bed of death (for such it proved to be) as 
Melanie entered. “ I have tried everything, 
in order to satisfy your mind,” he said to 
Fernanda; “but life w r as probably extinct 
even before you could have sent lor me. I 
always feared her death would be sudden — 
it generally is in cases like hers.” 

Melanie sank on a chair in speechless hor- 
ror. 

“She has been spared much suffering,’* 
continued Dr. Paur; “and knowing, as we 
do, how well prepared she was to die, such 


C Y R I L L A. 


T* 


» death maybe call id a blessing. To the 
surviving family it in, indeed, a hard trial,” 
he added, looking compassionately towards 
the youthful orphans, who were endeavour- 
ing to stifle their sobs in the pillows that 
supported their mother’s remains. 

Melanie ’3 presence and sympathy proved 
an incalculable consolation to her sisters. 
She mourned with them, that of all remedies 
the most efficacious in cases of bereavement, 
and authorized by the highest example ; but 
while Fernanda slowly appeared to become 

f >artially resigned to the loss of the being she 
lad loved best on earth, Cyrilla seemed to 
sink into a state of complete despondency. 
The shock of her mother’s sudden death had 
blunted the keenness of her perception of 
ZorndorfF s perfidy, as the pain of a greater 
wound causes a lesser (even if more danger- 
ous) to be for a time unheeded. A few dis- 
tracting words of explanation, however, at- 
tempted by Melanie, had acted l¥ke a probe, 
and renewed all her anguish. Then it be- 
came evident that their consternation was 
only equalled by their helplessness. Melanie 
talked wildly of separations and divorces ; 
and fyrilla tried to understand, but at last, 
complaining of confusion of ideas, she had 
given her ZorndorfFs letter, saying, that she 
would speak about it and him as soon as she 
was able to think calmly and with less diffi- 
culty. That time was further distant than 
she supposed. The day of the interment, 
she was unable to leave her bed, though, to 
Fernanda’s great uneasiness, she frequently 
sat up, and, with a flushed countenance, 
talked in an incoherent manner ; but what 
one sister imagined delirium was to th* 
other but too intelligible, when Cyrillu 
tightly clasped Melanie’s hand and exclaimed, 
“ Oh tell me that I am not bound to him for 
life ! Say that it was a dream, — that dread- 
ful day at Spa ! ” 

Melanie bent over her and whispered : 
“Dearest love, you are betraying yourself 
and me in a most unnecessary manner.” 

“ But she says I never was at Spa,” cried 
Cyrilla, pointing impatiently to Fernanda, 
who stood anxiously watching her. “She 
says I only went to Aix with you ! ” 

“ Most probably,” whispered Melanie, “you 
have never, to her, spoken of Spa.” 

“ Do not answer her,” said Fernanda, in a 
low voice ; “ it is quite evident she does not 
know what she is saying.” 

“ You think me delirious,” cried Cyrilla, 
starting up eagerly : “ I am not ; I am only 
a little — a very little confused. Is he,” she 
continued, turning abruptly to Melanie, “is 
he my husband, — or — or that other wo- 
man’s.” 

“We will talk about that when you are 
more composed, Cyrilla.” 

“But you know we were married 

you remember the day in Spa? ” 

“Yes, yes don’t talk about it now.” 

“ And you saw the letter he wrote me ? 
It vas that letter, Melanie, that killed my 
mother Can I be the wife of her mur- 

derer ? ” 

4 No, dear,” said Fer \anda, soothingly 


“the letter has made ycu free again, and 
you have now only to forget.” 

“ Only to forget ! ” repeated Cyrilla ; “ but 
I tell you,” she added passionately, “ that I 
cannot forget — and were I to try, this ring — 
this odious ring would remind me of him 

of Spa and and the man 

with the long scar on his face ! Look ! I see 
him quite distinctly now — standing near the 
window in his long surplice ! ” 

“ Who ? where ? ” cried Melanie, turning 
very pale. 

“ There !.%.... No I it is some one 

else, now ....... it is Edouard but he 

is looking at you, and not at me Speak 

to him, Melanie speak to him ” 

“This is too dreadful! ” cried Melanie, re- 
leasing her hand. “ Fernanda, I cannot stay 

with her if she talks in this # way there 

is something unearthty in the room — I feel 
it, though the sight is denied me.” 

“ It is my mother,” murmured Cyrilla, as 
she fell back on her pillow ; “it is my moth- 
er but she looks young just like 

Fernanda.” 

“ This is fever,” said Fernanda, sorrowfully. 
“ Surely, Melanie, you cannot attach any im- 
portance to such ravings ? ” 

“ I cannot help it — 1 am sure she has seen 
something ; and that this house is haunted, I 
have not the least doubt. So unceasing and 
unearthly were the noises in my room last 
night, that, instead of sleeping, I was obliged 
to sit up, and leave the large lamp burning ! ” 
“ The furniture is new, and made of un- 
seasoned wood,” replied Fernanda; “and, 
when it splits, the unexpected noise in the 
silence of the night is disagreeable, as I know 
from experience. I wish Dr. Paur were 
come ! I sent for him an hour ago ! ’* 


^ * 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Cyrilla’s illness was long and dangerous, 
three weeks of unconsciousness were followed 
by as many of passive weakness ; and even 
when her mind began to regain its activity 
she remained for hours silent, abstracted, 
and apparently unconscious of the presence 
of her sisters, even when on the subject oi 
religion their conversation approached the 
verge of argument. Fernanda, strong in her 
orthodoxy, could not endure any attempt to 
explain the mysteries of Christianity; she 
contended that since Providence ordained 
there should be mysteries, tlie endeavour of 
the unlearned to solve them was incoin j itible 
with true piety or commen sense, and the 
same efforts on the part of the leal ned only 
ded to confusion of ideas or unsatisfactory 
hypotheses. Melanie, whose religion strong- 
ly partook of the visionary bias of her mind, 
could not induce her sister to tolerate, even 
for a moment, the mental excursions to other 
planets in which she herself so frequently 
indulged, or to listen with patience to her 
various dissertations bn the religion of the 
Egyptians, whose doctrines of die transmi- 
gration of souls and tutelar geniusi % had ir 


CYR1LLA. 


** 

resistible Attraction for her exuberant fan- 
tasy. * 

£ 'Ilieir discussions were frequently interrupt- 
ed by Colonel Glaneck’s visits. He came 
regularly every day ; sometimes saw Melanie, 
at others Fernanda, and though he spoke lit- 
tle, and remained but a short time, they were 
always glad to see him, and grateful for the 
interest he seemed to take in Cyrilla’s wel- 
fare. From the time she had been pronounced 
out of danger, he supplied her with the most 
beautiful flowers that were to be procured in 
the neighbourhood, each day imperceptibly 
prolonging his visit, and becoming more inti- 
mate. Their aunt they never saw at all ; she 
had requested him to explain at some length 
her fear of fever and unconquerable dread of 
infection in general ; and he had been as- 
sured by Melanie, that such excuses were 
quite unnecessary, and that they had not ex- 
pected to see her. One morning as he alighted 
from his horse, and extended his hand to his 
groom for the carefully carried bouquet, a 
stranger, who had entered the house at the 
same time, asked in a hurried manner, if he 
could tell him where the Countess Falkenstcin 
resided ? 

“ Here,” answered Colonel Glaneck, turning 
towards the now well-known door, which was 
no sooner opened than, with a smile of wel- 
come, he was admitted, his inquiries circum- 
stantially answered, and then unceremonious- 
ly allowed to pass on. When Justine turned 
to the person who had entered with him, she 
looked intently at a face so strongly resembling 
a miniature which Cyrilla had shown her, 
that she scarcely required to hear the name 
of Zorndorff. She had heard of Cyrilla’s en- 
gagement to him ; was ignorant of the pur- 
port of his last letter, for Cyrilla could not, 
and Fernanda would not, speak of it ; and she 
had therefore been in daily expectation of his 
arrival from the time that he had ceased to 
write, and now told him so with all the free- 
dom of an old and valued servant, to whom 
time had given a right to consider herself a 
member of the family of which she had so 
long formed a part concomitant. Feeling no 
desire to explain, Zorndorff would probably 
have entered the adjoining room, had he not 
for so many reasons disliked the idea of meet- 
ing Melanie before witnesses ; he therefore 
sat down, and requesting Justine to relate to 
him every thing that had occurred since Cy- 
rilla’s return home, listened with an inter- 
est of that absorbing description that^uncon- 
6ciously induces the relater to be diffuse, and 
prevented him from obtaining half the infor- 
mation he desired before Colonel Glaneck 
again appeared, and, passing through the 
ante-room, disturbed with a few casual words 
and a half suppressed smile the incongruous* 
tete-cL-tete. 

Without waiting to be announced, Zorn- 
dorff entered the drawing-room, and found 
himself in the presence of Melanie. 

A stifled exclamation of surprise was fol- 
lowed by an assumption of such frigid digni- 
ty that he stopped for a moment irresolute, 
ooked round the room as if to assure himself 
that they were alone, and then advancing 


quickly L wards her, said, “Do not refuse me 
your assistance in this most critical moment 
of my life, Melanie — I have erred, but my 
punishment is already greater than even you 
can imagine 1 ” 

“Why are you here?” 6he asked almost 
sternly. 

“They told me Cyrilla was dying." 

“ Who spoke to you of her ? ” 

“The Lindesmars.” 

“ If ” — said Melanie, “ if they had said she 
wished to die, they would have been nearer 
the truth ; but all immediate danger is over 
now, and we have hopes of her recovery.” 

“ I know it can I see her? 

“ You 1 Impossible — the slightest agitation 
might cause a relapse.” 

“ Then my only hope is now, as ever, in 
your mediation.” 

“ Mediation ! oh never expect it again ; yox 
have used it to bring disgrace and sorrow or* 
us both.” 

Zorndorff threw himself into a chair, and 
leaning his arm on the nearest table let his 
head sink on it, while she continued : “ Had 

you been satisfied with a simple engagement, 
my unhappy sister might have considered 
her case a common one, and the grief and bit- 
ter mortification to which you would have 
subjected her might in time have been for- 
given, if not forgotten. Young as she is 

the clouded morning of her life might-gradu- 
ally have been changed into a cheerful noon 
by her union with ” 

“ Rupert ! — he being the sun destined to 
dispel the clouds” — cried Zorndorff, looking 
up fiercely. — “ Listen to me, Melanie ; it was 
the fear or rather the certainty of having him 
for a rival that drove me to extremities — my 
peace of mind — my jealous love required 

the security I have obtained 1 Love 

such as mine ” 

“Love!” cried Melanie, interrupting him 
angrily, “and do you call such selfishness 
love? — Well may Cyrilla say that mutual per- 
sonal admiration was all that existed between 
you.” 

Zorndorff started up. — “ Do you mean me 
to understand that she has ceased to care for 
me ? ” he asked with suppressed vehemence. 

“Your letter was the immediate cause of 
her mother’s death ...” began Melanie. 

“ It would not have been had you arrived 
as I supposed you would a day earlier — not 
even on such an occasion could you lay aside 
your dilatory habits ! It is inexcusable ! ” 

“ True ! ” said Melanie, who felt all the 
justness of the remark, “ too true ! — Through- 
out this unfortunate affair, I have erred un- 
ceasingly ; yet, Heaven knows, I meant well, 
and thought, in promoting your wishes, I was 
securing for Cyrilla a happiness denied to 
myself. I hoped — but let us now, instead of 
reproaching each other, endeavour to repair 
the grievous injury we have done her.” 

“In what way?” asked Zorndorff hastdy 

“ By procuring a divorce.” 

“ From Margaret ! ” 

“No, from Cyrilla.” 

“ Never J ” 

“She can demand it — insist on it* 


C Y R I L L A. 


7a 


“She can — but will she obtain it ? ” 

“I am totally ignorant of all such matters ” 
— began Melanie. 

“Fortunately I am not,” said Zorndorff, 
quietly ; “ 1 know perfectly well what I have 
done/ 

“But,” she rejoined, with evident irrita- 
tion, “ but it is not necessary to study law to 
know that a man may not have two wives ! 
Cyril la has a right to sue for a divorce.” 

“ Most undoubtedly. It is true, the neces- 
sary legal proceedings and investigations will 

not be particularly agreeable to her 

but she will have the satisfaction of branding 
me with infam} T , and depriving me of my lib- 
erty for some of the best years of my life.” 

“How so ? ” cried Melanie, alarmed. 

“ The penalty of bigamy is imprisonment in 
a house of correction.” 

“ Good heavens, we never thought of that 

how could you venture to run such a 

risk ? ” 

“ I was worried — tortured into it 

perhaps, also, I hoped that Cyrilla would be 
merciful but at all events,” add- 
ed Zorndorff, with provoking calmness, “ she 
would fmd it difficult without my assistance to 
prove her marriage, and that is the first step 
necessary for her to take. You forget that 
the important papers are all in my posses- 
sion.” 

“ O, how implicitly we trusted you ! ” ex- 
claimed Melanie, bitterly. 

“You need not regret it; they shall be 
placed at her disposition whenever she 
chooses to ask me for them ; but the applica- 
tion must be personal.” 

“ My poor Cyrilla, what trials are before 
you 1 ” cried Melanie, vainly endeavouring to 
repress her tears, “ and for me too ; for now, 
indeed, I see that there is no alternative, and 
I must apply to Wilhelm for advice.” 

“ Apply to my uncle 1 Beware of that, if 
you do not for yourself desire the next thing 
to a divorce. Your confession that you have 
been accessory to a marriage which, if known, 
must now bring disgrace on us all — will de- 
stroy the remains of your domestic peace, 
and make a separation from him inevitable.” 

“ And this I must hear from you ;* and said 
so calmly so coldly ! ” 

“ It is your own fault, Melanie ; why do 
ou so ungenerously threaten, instead of, as 
expected, making common cause with me ? 
I know that my fate is in your hands ; but I 
know also that yours is so entangled in it, 
that if I may not hope, I shall at least have 
little to fear from you.” 

Melanie was so evidently intimidated, that 
he added, almost authoritatively: “ Your in- 
fluence with Cyrilla is unbounded ; endea- 
vour to appease her just resentment : induce 
her to preserve our secret for a year or two, 
and all will end well ; and, without any pain- 
ful explanations or scandalous investigations, 
we can spend the rest of our lives together, 
•urrounded by all the comforts and luxuries 
which none but fools pretend to despise.” 

“ But but this Margaret ” said 

Melanie, hesitating. 

“ In a few months her miserable existence 
will probably terminate — unhealthy from 


her birth, an I the Iasi three years more be- 
longing to anothei world than this theie is 
not the slightest chance of her recovery. ’ 

“ This may be true,” said Melanie ; “ bt 
the idea of Avaiting for, and rejoicing in, the 
death of any human being, is so repugnant 
to all one’s better feelings, ‘ that . . . .” 

“ That you would rather not have it placed 
as fact before you in common words,” saio 
Zorndorff, scoffingly. 

Roused to anger, Melanie stood up, ana 
though her voice faltered, her brows con- 
tracted over her dark eyes, as she answered : 
“Your words shall be repeated to Cyrilla a^ 
soon as she is well enough to bear them ; but 
I can no longer conceal from you that you 
have forfeited her esteem, and Avith it 
her affection. Whether or not the millions 
which you will inherit from this other un- 
fortunate woman will enable you to regain 
her heart, I leave you to judge ; you knoAV 
best if it be purchasable.” 

“ Stay,” cried Zorndorff, as she Avas about 
to leave him; “stay, and recall those Avords 
.... I cannot believe them ; if there be truth 
in a woman, Cyrilla loves me ! ” 

“She did.” 

“ She does .... and woman can forgive so- 
much 1 ” 

“ Some, but not all,” said Melanie, endea- 
vouring to speak calmly. “The Adlerkrons 
are proud, and a greater insult, a more un- 
pardonable wrong, has seldom been offered 
to any Avoman.” 

“ But time .... time will enable me to re- 
pair it .... I knew that when I yielded to 
temptation .... I mean to say the commands 
of my father, and a .... no matter what .... 
procure me time, dear Melanie, and my future 
life shall be a series of amends for this one 
great offence. Should Cyrilla, hoAvever, be 
inexorable, as you seem to think,” he added, 
moodily, “ you may tell her that she has no- 
opposition to fear from me. I shall have but 
one subject of regret .... that the walls of 
a prison will so long separate her from her 
convict husband.” 

“ Edouard, Edouard, this is too dreadful ; 
hoAv can you speak so ? ” 

“ It does not sound Avell, I confess, and the 
affair will be talked of as a proof of the de- 
pravity of the upper classes. There is ... . 
but one way .... of making Cyrilla free, and 
perhaps I ought to tell it you .... an expe- 
dient in every way befitting our rank, and 
which might be managed Avithout the un- 
pleasant facts ever becoming public.” 

“Oh name it, name it, Edouard; Avliy did 
you not speak of it sooner ? ” 

“You have only to consult Rupert, and 
your difficulties are at an end.” 

“ What can he do? ” * 

“Persuade a friend to load one of those 
pistols that Cyrilla used to admire so much 
at Fmlands ; an ounce of lead from so un- 
erring a hand Avould relieve you both from 
all further embarrassments.” 

“ Edouard, if you had ever in the least 
cared for me, or even believed in my regard 
for you, you could not torture me in tl i9 
manner. Go .... and if it be any consola- 
tion to you, believe that you have made two 


T6 


C Y R I L L A. 


others lr this world as wretched as you .... 
deserve to be yourself Go, and never speak 
to me again.” 

“Not so, Melanie ; not so, my dearest aunt 
cried Zorndorff, beseechingly. We have been, 
and must continue, allies. The satisfactory 
termination of this unhappy affair is now 
uearly of as much consequence to you as to 
me. As I said before, my uncle would never 
pardon the part you have acted in it, so there 
is nothing left for you but to overcome your | 
repugnance and listen to reason.” 

Melanie sat down again, and listened with 
averted head, while he continued : “ My en- 
gagement to Oyrilla, had we entered into one, 
would have lasted two or tluee years at 
least. Now, the Sommerfeld’s physician 
told me that Margaret could not possibly live 
longer than that time, though both she and 
her father were fully convinced that I could 
effect her restoration to health, as I possessed 
the power of putting her in a few minutes, 
into a state of mesmeric sleep-walking.” 

“A somnambulist! ” cried Melanie, turn- 
ing towards him with a look of astonish- 
ment. 

“ A nervous, capricious woman,” said 
ZorndorfF, “ who can talk and think of no- 
thing but her sensations and her sufferings.” 

“ 1 dare say she does suffer,” said Melanie, 
jompassionately ; “ almost all somnambulists 
lo, more or less .... but, oh Edouard, they 
sometimes live long, very long .... the som- 
nambulist of Prevorst, you know . . . .” 

“I know' .... I know,” he cried, impa- 
tiently; “but Margaret’s case is quite differ- 
ent, though she imagines there is great simi- 
larity. 1 endeavour to submit with patience 
to all the fancies of a person on whom death 
kas already laid his hand; but I have de- 
clined the office of mesmerizer, and have re- 
signed her to the care of a young man in 
Exfort, who has written a book on Magnetic 
Phenomena, though I do not think he knows 
much about the matter. How r ever, he talks 
to her of neurology and neurotics, listens at- 
tentively to her dreams, allows her to pre- 
scribe for herself, and so amuses her, and 
oartially emancipates me. There is also a 
homoeopath at Exfort.” 

“ But surely she does not try two modes of 
treatment at the same time ? ” 

“ 1 believe she would try twenty if she 
could ; she has no other thought, no other oc- 
cupation than the recovery of her health.” 

“ I am surprised she did not wish to re- 
main in Berlin, in order to have better ad- 
vice.” 

“She may have wished it; but, as I have 
i*'t the least idea of giving up my profession, 
my return to Exfort was inevitable.” 

“ I am sorry to hSar it,” said Melanie, “as 
it will compel me to give up my plan of tak- 
ing Cyrilla back with me.” 

“ Why so ? I shall carefully avoid embar- 
rassing her, and we are not likely to meet 
>ften.” 

44 Poor thing ! ” said Melanie, in a low 
voice, “ she will feel her mother’s loss and 
your cruel desertion doubly if obliged to re- 
main here with her cold-hearted, miserly 
vslfish a inti * 


“ Then why not persuade her to return tc 
Exfort ? I will promise never to enter your 
house — never to speak to her.” 

“But what chance would there be of her 
regaining her health and peace of mind un- 
der such circumstances ? ” said Melanie sor- 
rowfully. “Living at Exfort, and associating 
with the same people, how could you avoid 
meeting — how avoid speaking without giv- 
ing subject to unpleasant remarks ? and 
then what danger for Cyrilla, who natural- 
ly still thinks she has a better right to 
your affection than your acknowledged 
wife ! ” 

“1 thought you said that I had forfeited 
her regard,” said ZorndorfF, vainly endea- 
vouring to suppress a smile of exultation. 

“ 8he has said so — repeatedly — but can one 
believe her ? ” 

“I can not” answered ZorndorfF; “and it 
w T as this certainty which gave me courage to 
accept the gifts that fortune seemed de- 
termined to force on me with Margaret Som- 
inerfeld, — gifts which will yet be shared 
with Cyrilla Dearest Melanie, endea- 

vour to make her view our marriage in the 
light of a solemn engagement ; induce her to 
forgive this one criminal dereliction on my 
part., and all will end w ell for her, for you, 
and for me.” 

“I am afraid that it is the only course left 
for us,” said Melanie, with a deep sigh. “Cy- 
rilla must be a victim to my fears and your 
avarice, and I must try to make her resigned 
to her fate.” 

ZorndorfF felt that this W'as all he could 
demand or expect, and slowly and reluctant- 
ly took leave. “ I wisli you would write to 
me,” he said earnestly. “You can easily im- 
agine what a relief to my mind a few lines 
from you would be, after you have spoken to 
Cyrilla. Just now I am supposed to be in 
Silesia, inspecting some property ; but in 
less than a week I shall return to Exfort, so 
you may direct there.” At the door he 
stopped, looked round, and said : “ Cyrilla’s 
recovery will be slow in this gloomy abode. 
Stay with her, Melanie, as long as you can, 
and speak of me incessantly until you have 
obtained my pardon.” 

Long and deeply Melanie pondered over 
all she had heard, slowly and carefully she 
communicated it to her sister. Cyrilla lis- 
tened with a patient resignation, partly 
caused by the remaining weakness of illness, 
still more by the great change which her 
feelings had undergone. She comprehended 
perfectly Melanie’s fears of her husband’s 
anger, and shared them ; she perceived that 
in destroying her sister’s domestic peace she 
was not iikely to promote her own ; and, al- 
though all Zorndorff ’s calculating selfishness 
had become evident to her, she shuddered 
equally at the idea of his being condemned 
to a disgraceful punishment, and at the mis- 
ery which the acknowledgment of her rights 
would bring on a woman who had been still 
more basely deceived by him. As she lay 
for hours too weak to move or speak, all 
these circumstances were justly weighed and 
considered ; and when Melanie, with agitated 
eloquence, dwelt on the' annoyances to which 


C YRILL A. 


the legal formalities necessary to procure a 
divorce would subject her, Cyrilla ceased to 

hesitate, and promised patience and 

silence. She stopped her sister’s thanks by 
observing that, though her affliction was 
great, she had deserved it, for having joined 
in a system of duplicity towards the Presi- 
dent, consented to a marriage which she 
knew would be displeasing to Zorndorff’s 
family, and being, though through the medi- 
um of another, the immediate cause of her 
mother’s death. There was but one condi- 
tion on which she insisted, and that was a 
written promise from Zorndorff that he 
would not only, as he had said to Melanie, 
view their marriage henceforward in the 
light of an engagement, but as one that had 
been broken off by him, and consequently, 
even if eventually at liberty, he would con- 
sider that he had forfeited all right to claim 
her as his wife, or even in any way to dic- 
tate to her or control her actions. 

Melanie wrote, and the returning post 
brought the desired promise, without a word 
more or less than was necessary, and Cyrilla 
wept over it for hours as if her heart were 
breaking. This apparent inconsistency sur- 
prised Melanie, and she injudiciously confi- 
ded her observations on the subject to Zorn- 
dorff, intending by that means to make him 
more sensible of the atrocity of his conduct, 
but unconsciously encouraging him in all his 
hopes and plans for the future. 

At length Cyrilla was pronounced conva- 
lescent, and arrangements for her and her 
sister’s removal to their aunt’s commenced. 
*Greatly they wished to remain where they 
were with Justine, but even Melanie seemed 
to think them too young for so independent 
a life. She stipulated, however, before she 
returned to Exfort, that Justine was to be 
left in quiet possession of the apartments, 
and that they were to be at liberty to spend 
as much time in them every day as they 
pleased. 

* 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Baroness Adlerkron laid aside her 
mourning at the end of a few weeks, ob- 
serving in a playful manriet to Colonel Gla- 
neck, “ That it was unpardonable people dy- 
ing at a time of year when their relations 
wished to enjoy a little gaiety; that for her 
part she despised all outward form of woe, 
and so particularly disliked black, which she 
knew was unbecoming to her, that she never 
wore it a day longer than was absolutely 
necessary.” These words served as an ex- 
cuse for a continuation of the insipid round 
of dissipation that she denominated pleasure, 
and for leaving her nieces to pass their time 
in that quiet monotony which allows grief 
to exhaust itself. Fernanda regained by de- 
grees her habitual cheerfulness, and at- 
tempted a renewal of her former occupa- 
tions, but she soon discovered that her time 
was no longer at her own disposal. If she 
wished to read, her aunt required her to try 
duets on the pianoforte; if she drew, her 
neatly-finished drawing was instantly taken 


possession of for an alburn which Colonel 
Glaneek had given the Baroness as a speci- 
men of Vienna workmanship ; and no sooner 
did it become evident that she was a tolera- 
bly expert tapestry-worker, than she was 
condemned to stitch all the garlands and 
bouquets necessary to furnish a whole room 1 
Women who have many female friends can 
sometimes manage to cover their chaii-s and 
sofas in a surprisingly short time by contri- 
bution ; and the Baroness, all unconscious of 
her friendless position, made various efforts 
to procure assistance for her niece, but in 
vain. Colonel Bockenheim’s daughter alone, 
after having received a few hints, and some 
nods and expressive looks from him, under- 
took a sofa cushion, on which there was to 
be a shepherdess, apparently rather marked 
with the small-pox, surrounded by lambs 
with high noses and square eyes, the Baro- 
ness herself having declared her intention 
of working the shepherd, with pink shorts, 
flageolet, and dog, to match. 

Whatever natural impatience Fernanda 
may have felt at the succession of petty tri- 
als of temper to which she was subjected, or 
at the tiresome task imposed on her skilful 
fingers, was increased by Justine, whose in- 
dignation knew no bounds at seeing her 
young lady turned, as she expressed it, into 
a common workwoman: she had even the 
courage to remonstrate with the Baroness, 
and also to suggest that the extreme cold- 
ness of her rooms might disagree with Cy- 
rilla, who had been accustomed to a warmer 
climate for so many years ; but for this inju- 
dicious interference, her future visits were 
declined in a manner not particularly flatter- 
ing ; and Cyrilla, deprived of the care to 
which she had been accustomed from infancy 
at a time when she most required it, de- 
pressed by the frigid formality of her aunt’s 
house and habits, and shocked by her sister’s 
silent unceasing diligence, began to pine 
away, and grew so thin and pale, that at 
length change of air and scene was peremp- 
torily ordered by Dr. Paur. 

It was too early in the season for the Ba- 
roness to be expected to go to the country, 
but she allowed Cyrilla to remove with Jus- 
tine to her villa near Hellbrunn, and there, 
cheered by the beauty of the scenery, and 
relieved from all restraints, she gradually 
began to regain health and strength, though 
stiil greatly depressed in spirits ; but while 
she clung to J ustine, and seemed more con- 
scious of and grateful for her kind attention 
than she had ever been before, her humble 
friend would much rather have seen a re- 
turn of her childish petulance and most 
charming disobedience — she longed to hear 
again her merry laugh, and the joyous 
snatches of patois Italian songs, that had 
enlivened even the dull ground-floor of the 
ancient house in Salzburg. But Cyrilla nei- 
ther laughed nor sang: she would sit for 
hours silently gazing at the clouds passing 
over the mountains, or languidly watching 
the increase of vegetation that made the 
winter green of the pine and fir trees look 
dim and dark, as the surrounding chestnuts 
burst forth in succulent masses, ?r the light 


ts 


C YRILL A. 


maple and graceful beech waved their deli- 
cate foliage in t^eir vicinity. 

Justine 'was a shrewd, sensible woman, 
fond to excess of power, and whose love of 
governing had for the last twenty years been 
exercised in the minutiae of every-day life in 
the Adlerkron family. Something very nearly 
resembling friendship had latterly subsisted 
between her and the Baroness Carl, and her 
affection for Cyrilla and Fernanda was little 
inferior to that of a mother. She submitted 
patiently as a parent would have done, to 
seeing her little gifts of fruit, flowers, bon 
bons, and birds, treated with neglect, but 
Cyialla’s silenco about Zorndorff mortified 
her beyond measure. She knew that he had 
ceased to write, that his name or any refer- 
ence to him, caused annoyance, if not actual 
rain ; ^and at length one day, when Cyrilla 
had wfept until she had given herself a head- 
ache, and worried herself into a fit of un- 
usual depression, Justyie took advantage of 
the open writing-desk and well-known 
packet of letters, to demand the explanation 
she had vainly hoped would have been offer- 
ed her. It was given in very few words, 
and caused boundless consternation and 
anger, although allowed to suppose that a 
broken engagement was the “ head and 
front” of Zorndorff s “offending.” The idea 
of Cyrilla’ s having been deserted in such a 
manner appeared to Justine so monstrous, 
that she could think and talk of nothing else 
for several da}’8 ; and as no feeling of personal 
regard hampered her judgment, it was of 
implacable severity. 

The unreserved animadversions, which 
Cyrilla knew were but too well merited, 
>roduced a return of the abhorrence that she 
lad at first experienced, and while under its 
influence, she sent Zorndorffs picture and 
letters to Melanie, begged her sister to obtain 
hers in return, and then never to name him 
to her again, as she neither wished to be re- 
minded of the cruel bondage to which cir- 
cumstances compelled her to submit, nor of 
the author of it. Justine, observing the irri- 
tation produced by her frequent discussions 
of the disagreeable topic, ceased all reference 
to ‘it, and Cyrilla slowly regained her equa- 
nimity ; time and her constitutional buoy- 
ancy of temperament at length prevailed, 
and resignation took the form of a quiet in- 
difference of manner that never even verged 
towards the light-hearted gaiety for which 
she had formerly been so remarkable. 

Her aunt and sister joined her, and the 
usual summer amusements began ; that is, 
every fine day was devoted to excursions in 
the neighbourhood, and . spent altogether in 
the open air. This mode of life so peculiar 
to southern climates, this reading, talking, 
eating, and drinking in public, so repugnant 
to English habits, was twenty yeas ago even 
more universal than now, and was common 
to the highest as well as the lowest classes. 
A cloudless sky seldom, a cloudless Sunday 
iky never, failed to fill all the beautifully 
situated gardens in the neighbourhood of 
Salzburg. While the unsociable inhabitants 
of Britain seek the most secluded spots for 
Unir pic-nics, or, preceded by their servants, 


occupied the half-aired dining-room of som* 
uninhabited castle, house, or cottage, as the 
case may be, the Germans, more gregarious, 
assemble round tables in the gardens of the 
never-failing inns, move about from one 
friendly group to the other, renew or increase 
their acquaintances, and have all the plea- 
sure of society on the easiest terms imagin- 
able. It is much to be regretted that the 
upper classes a«*e beginning to disdain these 
simple enjoyments, the more so as their exam 
pie may influence those who are not likely to 
find anything to replace them. The gnawing 
sickly kind of ambition that causes an in- 
satiable desire to associate with and imitate 
those placed by birth and fortune in a higher 
sphere, has long been felt by the class term- 
ed bureaucratists, and has in no way tended 
to increase their happiness; but the love of 
pleasure still most frequently preponderates, 
and, half ashamed of their condescension, 
half disposed to be happy, they may still be 
seen occupying tables and benches somewhat 
apart from the joyous, noisy, and ever hun- 
gry citizens. 

With the exception of a feAv families who 
no w-a-days merely walk through the gardens, 
casting supercilious glances around them, 
the bureaucratists and burghers seem to be 
much the same as they were a score of years 
ago. The rising generation are perhaps 
rather more open in the expression of an- 
noyance at the voluminous white cravat and 
brown coat of grandpapa, or the old-fashion- 
ed bonnet and monstrous reticule of grand- 
mamma, while even papa’s own wig, ami 
mamma’s portly dimensions, form not unfre 1 * 
queutly a subject of open ridicule. But 
though the sons, when arrived at the age of 
cigars, emancipate themselves, and wander 
about bestowing casual bows and words on 
their acquaintances, the daughters still fol- 
low their mothers, or, sitting demurely be- 
side them, with an affectation of industry 
more amusing than offensive, produce pieces 
of portable crochet work, exciting astonish- 
ment, and greatly promoting conversation, by 
showing the marvellous variety of things 
which they contrive to make in this manner 
— as, for instance, various* imitations of lace, 
then cuffs, collars, and children’s caps, form- 
less jackets, and square or octagonal morsels 
of a coarser pattern, that, when sewn to- 
gether, produce a quilt of a heavy clinging 
description, which nothing would tempt any 
one to endure, but the conviction that a host 
of kind intentions had propelled the dear 
hands that worked it for them. At all events, 
this crotchet work is infinitely preferable to 
its predecessor, the long stocking of twenty 
years ago; this most necessary article of 
clothing now seldom makes its appearance da 
ornamental work, excepting in the most di- 
minutive forms, and generally for infant- 
school Christmas presents. 

The gay groups of people who every Sun 
day and holiday passed the Baroness’s villa 
on their way to Hellbrunn, presented a pic- 
ture of life in its gayest aspect; fathers, 
mothers, sons, and daughters, all in their best 
attire ; neighbours’ families, united for the 
afternoon, walking in an ever-changing pro- 


fission; carriagri *S a_. descriptions, from 
the large family barouche stuffed with chil- 
dren, to the Styrian wttgerl , with its hand- 
some saucy peasant proprietor, who has a 
word and a wink for each passer by ; light 
fantastic vehicles of every kind filled with 
lolling smoking officers; equestrians on horses 
becoming interestingly restive at the sight 
of a flowing robe of white or blue, and per- 
forming the most perfect caprioles when 
within a few yards of any or every bonnet 
with pendant plumes. 

One fine fete day towards the middle of 
summer, jnst as the Adlerkrons were about 
to join this motley crowd, a travelling car- 
riage, which, in spite of the ihcessant crack- 
ing of the pcAtilions’ whips, had latterly 
made its way but slowly, turned suddenly 
into the short approach leading to their 
house. 

“ Who can this be? ” cried the Baroness, in 
no pleased tone of voice; “post-horses and 
postilions in blue and white? I hate the 
sight of the Bavarian liveries, as they always 
bring me visiters for the whole day. This is 
of course some one who will stay to dinner, 
and ’1 

“ It is Rupert ! ” cried Cyrilla, almost 
joyously, as she endeavoured to pass her 
aunt. 

“Stop,” said the Baroness, “something 
very important must have occurred, or he 
would not have come in this unexpected 
manner. Let me speak to him — alone.” She 
walked hastily into the adjoining room, and 
met her nephew at the glass door. 

“ How d’ you do ? Where are my cousins ? 
Where is Cyrilla ? ” asked Rupert quickly. 

“I thought, perhaps, } T ou would wish to 
speak to me before you saw them. I am 
prepared for your intelligence — tell me the 
name at once. I know nothing else would 
have induced you to come here.” 

“Name! what name?” asked Rupert. 

“The name of your intended wife.” 

“Pshaw!” cried Rupert, with a gesture 
of impatience. “Let me see my cousins, and 
don’t name the word wife , if you do not wish 
me to order fresh horses and see me go off 
to spend my leave of absence elsewhere.” 

“And are you really come of your own 
accord to stay with me ? ” 

“Yes; and to quarrel with you if neces- 
sary. IIow is Cyrilla ? is she quite strong 
again ? ” 

“ Why, yes — but she has grown too quiet, 
in fact rather dull of late — she seems to 
suffer so much from her hopeless attachment 
that. . . .” 

“Ha — indeed” — said Rupert, with an ex- 
pression of anxiety that induced his aunt to 
continue in the same strain. 

“I never saw anyone so changed in so 
short a time. She has grown indifferent to 
everybody and everything in the world, and 
says if there were Protestant nunneries she 
would, without liesisation, enter one, take 
the veil, and devote herself to religious du- 
ties for the rest of her life.” 

“ Poor dear,” said Rupert compassionate- 

y 

“I am glad to perceive you are mt so in- 


sensible as I expected,” said Lie aunt, with 
evident satisfaction. “Perhaps, after all. 
you may relent — and marry her.” 

“Who? I? You seem to be labouring 
under some strange mistake,” began Rupert; 
then he paused, thought for a moment, and 
added : “ It appears to me that the loss of 
her mother and a long and dangerous illness 
account very naturally for the change you 
describe.” 

“For a change, but not such a change,” 
rejoined his aunt. 

Rupert began to pluck the flowers in his 
vicinity with a diligence that greatly dis- 
pleased her. 

“ Instead of tearing my flowers to pieces, 
Rupert, you had better go to your cousins ; 
they are in the next room, and,” she added, 
opening the door, “I can answer forCyrilla’s 
being glad to see you ! ” 

“O, so glad,” cried Cyrilla, advancing ea- 
gcrly. 

His aunt could detect no difference in his 
manner of meeting his cousins ; it was so 
cordial, so affectionate to both, as Fernanda 
thanked him warmly for a letter which he 
had written to them after their mother’s 
death. The Baroness interposed. 

“What letter? I never beard of any let- 
ter.” f 


“We were not with you when it reached 
us,” said Fernanda quietly. 

“Rather a fortunate circumstance,” cried 
Rupert, “that is, if you must show my aunt 
all your letters.” 

“You could scarcely object to her show- 
ing me yours ? ” said the Baroness. 

“Not I!” replied Rupert, laughing; “it 
would only add another to our subjects of 
dispute. I consider that my cousins now be- 
long as much to me as to you ; so I told 
them when they got tired of living with 
you they might come to me — that’s all!” 

“You did! did you?” she exclaimed, with 
an appearance of anger that surprised her 
nieces considerably, as she had already not 
unfrequently given them to understand that 
having them to reside with her was a duty 
imposed on her 1>y their near relationship, 
and the necessity of keeping up appearances. 
“I suppose, then,” she added with a slight 
sneer, “ 1 suppose you intend them to follow 
you about to your different garrisons? What 
an acquisition to the regiment, especially 
when in country quarters! ” 

“Too much honour for me — or my regi- 
ment,” answered Rupert, amused at her irri- 
tation ; “fortunately, however, I can give 
them the choice of several residences, and 
as I have just acquired a house in Berlin, 
perhaps they may prefer it to any other.” 

“Rupert — I — 1 take it for granted — I am 
sure you are net aware that you are acting 
in direct opposition to your uncle’s will.” 

“How so? ” 

“He recommended your cousins to — to 
my protection,” replied the Baroness, turning 
to a servant who just then entered the room. 

“Your protection and nothing else?” 

She did not hear him, and added testily 
a v moment afterwards: “Why, Rupert, they 
tell me you want stabling for eight horses! 


C Y R 1 L jli A 


Do you think this house is a Windhorst or 
Freilands ? Did you forget that I had horses 
here too ? ” 

“Tell them to find out some place for 
mine in the neighbourhood,” said Rupert, 
carelessly. 

“And four grooms,” continued his aunt, 
“and a britchzka and phaeton — what can 
we do with all these in a small place of this 
kind?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know — but we had bet- 
ter leave all that to Ehrhardt,” said Rupert, 
turning again to Cyrilla, who could not help 
smiling at her aunt’s dismay ; while Fernan- 
da, half alarmed, stood forward and seemed 
disposed to undertake the part of mediatrix. 

During the discussion which ensued, the 
author of the commotion leaned quietly 
against the side of an open window, and in a 
low voice addressed his cousin: “At Frei- 
lands, Cyrilla, I said that we should not 
meet again for years unless something quite 
unforeseen should occur, but this having 
been the case I . . . 

“0, Rupert,” she cried, interrupting him 
hastily; “do not speak of anything that 
occurred at Freilands.” 

“ I have no intention — I referred to your 
mother’s death, and your, I fear, uncomfort- 
able position here^ and have come expressly 
to consult you and Fernanda about your 
plans for the future.” 

“Thank you, Rupert,” said Cyrilla hur- 
riedly; “you are very kind. Our prospects 
are not brilliant, it is true, nor are we as 
— happy as we used to be ; but, after all, we 
have no right to complain ; and, to be can- 
did with you, both Fernanda and I agree in 
thinking that we canilot, under any circum- 
stances, go to you until — until — you are 
married.” 

Rupert turned to his aunt, and begged her 
to give herself no further trouble ; it was 
very probable he would remain but a few 
days with her. 

“ But everything is arranged, Rupert. I 
was only just at first a little puzzled about 
so'many horses ; and you know there is no- 
thing I dislike so much as having other peo- 
ple’s servants in my house, especially yours, 
who are so spoiled and pampered : however, 
there is no use in talking to you about that, 
so if you have no objections we can now all 
go to Hellbrunn together.” 

Their entrance into the garden at Hell- 
brunn caused a degree of commotion which 
was particularly gratifying to the Baroness. 
The tables were all occupied, but one was 
immediately procured from the house, and in 
a few minutes she and her nieces were the 
“ observed of all observers,” and surrounded 
by officers of every rank and age. 

Rupert became acquainted with them all 
in an astonishingly short time ; and then, 
looking round and perceiving his friends cf 
the year before, he went to them, and not 
only appeared but was glad to see them, 
from Colonel Bockenheim and his daughter, 
to the Bornstedts who lodged on the second 
floor of his aunt’s house. After having ob- 
tained a few words and a great many blushes 
from the youthful daughter of the latter, he 


proposed accompanying them to see (he 
water-works, on condition that Mademoiselle 
Josephine would promise to walk beside him, 
and tell him how to avoid the usual shower- 
baths bestowed on strangers for the amuse- 
ment of the public. 

Willingly she promised, and it would be 
hard to 6ay whether the Bornstedts’ exulta- 
tion or his aunt’s annoyance was the greater 
as he walked off with them. 

“Was there ever anyone so tiresome as 
Rupert?” cried the Baroness, looking after 
him ; “ he always chooses to bestow his at- 
tentions on the very people I wish him to 
avoid ? ” 

“He is bestowing them on one of tho 
prettiest girls in Salzburg,” answered an 
officer, laughing. “It is a great pity we are 
to lose her so 6oon .... You have of course 
heard of the silent wooing and sudden be- 
trothal ? ” 

“ No ; they knew nothing about the mat 
ter. 

“ In fact,” 6aid the officer, “it is our new 
est news; for it was only last Sunday, ia 
this very garden, that the Bornstedt family 
assembled round one of those tables to eat 
cakes and drink coffee in the usual quanti- 
ties, and at a neighbouring table a solitary 
stranger 6at, and ate and drank also; but 
while doing so, he amused himself watching 
the Bornstedts, and taking a very serious 
kind of fancy to the charming little person 
of the fair Josephine. When they rose to 
return home, he rose too, followed them, and 
as they were about to enter their house, he 
suddenly addressed the young lady’s father, 
and, having taken him aside, told him who 

and what he was, and demanded his 

daughter’s hand in marriage ! Herr Born- 
stedt stared a little, bowed very politely, re- 
quested he would have the kindness to calf 
for an answer in a couple of days, and then 
walking up stairs, informed his family with- 
out circumlocution of all that had been 
said.” 

“ And and,” said Fernanda, “ what 

what was her answer ? ” “ Her answer was 

an unanswerable query, consisting of but two 
words,” replied the officer, laughing. “ She 
merely said, ‘ Why not ? ’ and as no one could 
say why not, s^e is to be married some time 
next month.”* 

An exceed. ngly moderate degree of sur- 
prise was manifested, a few questions follow- 
ed, a jest cr two about the unusually hand- 
some face and figure of the silent adorer not 
having fc^en unobserved by the young lady 
even in the garden, some remarks, not worth* 
recording, of love at first sight, and then Cy 
rilla leaned back in her chair heedless of alt 
the attentions lavished on her, or receiving, 
them with a listlessness which many suppos- 
ed affectation, while Fernanda poured out 
the coffee, discussed its merits in i# very sat- 
isfactory manner, explained the way in which 
the Hellbrunn krapfen (cakes) were made, and 
how they should be torn asunder instead ot 
being cut, and received the laughing congrat- 
ulations of Colonel Bockenheim and his daugh. 


*Fm4 


C Y RILL A. 


81 


0 " 

*er on lier progress in German cookery with 
a very good grace. 

Rupert was long absent, and as he at last 
sauntered towards his aunt’s table, she turn- 
ed round, and said ironically, “ I hope you 
have been as surprised and delighted with 
the water-works as you expected?” 

“If I were not, 6ome Tyrolese peasants 
were,” he answered, laughing. “Not all 
Mademoiselle Josephine’s warnings could 
keep me out of the perfidious grotto, so ir- 
resistible were the wondering upturned fa- 
ces and open mouths just when the secret 
spring was touched, and the water gushed 
from hundreds of concealed apertures upon 
them.” 

“ I think the whole concern tiresome and 
childish,” said the Baroness ; “ it does not in 
the least amuse me seeing half-a-dozen peas- 
ants pursued by water spouts ! ” 

“ Y et it amused me to see their efforts to 
escape from them,” said Rupert. “I wish 
they would engage me as showman for a 
week or two.” 

“ What a droll idea! ” exclaimed Mademoi- 
selle de Bockenheim, who w T as standing be- 
hind Fernanda’s chair, endeavouring to ap- 
pear very intimate with her. 

“I think the falls of water over the bou- 
quets of fresh flowers very pretty,” said Cy- 
rilla ; “ they look like glass that had become 
alive.” 

“ If you had ever seen any really hand- 
some fountains,” said her aunt, “ or waters 
works on a grand scale, you would not think 
anything here worth looking at.” 

“Excuse me,” said Rupert, “but I must 
say that would altogether depend upon the 
constitution of her mind. I have seen foun- 
tains and water-works enough, you will al- 
low ; but, being blest with what Melanie 
calls an elastic imagination, that contracts or 
extends itself according to circumstances, I 
confess, without hesitation, that all I have 
just seen has both pleased and amused me, 
even to the two little tortoises that kept per- 
petually spitting at each other ! ” 

"Rupert!” 

" I am quite serious, I assure you. Pleas- 
ure is in ourselves, and not in the things 
around us. When one is disposed to mirth, 
the most trifling object affords amusement; 
when in a happy temper, there are few things 
that fail to give pleasure. I avoid all mental 
comparisons that interfere with present grat- 
ification, whether they concern beauties of 
nature or art. When at Versailles, I did not 
think of the scenery and mountains here ; nor, 
when here, will I think of the water-works 
and fountains of Versailles.” v .^ 

“ In shor said Count Glaneck, “ you are 
determined to enjoy everything without al- 
loy.” 

“ Precisely ; and those who do otherwise 
!u?e much pleasure, I suspect. I pity people 
who turn away from a really well composed, 
well painte< modern picture, because it is 
not equal to some Correggio or Rembrandt 
they had seen somewhere else. Now, a pic- 
ture must be very indifferent indeed not to 
afford me some sort of gratification ; and as 
to music, though perhaps I can appreciate it 
C 


better than anything else, a hurdy-gurdy, 
provided it be in order and played by a pic- 
turesque-looking Savoyard boy, can give mo 
very sincere satisfaction.” 

“ I like this idea,” said Fernanda, “ and 
shall endeavour to act on it in future ; but 
how few people have these enviably elastic 
minds ! ” 

“ More than choose to acknowledge it,” an- 
swered Rupert. “ People will not avow their 
gratification at mediocrity, because they feel 
it might be supposed they were ignorant that 
something better was attainable.” 

“ An absurd weakness,” said Fernanda. 

“Rather say vanity/’ rejoined Rupert; 
“ and after all, one of the most harmless of 
vanities. The worst kind is perhaps that 
which produces a craving for things beyond 
our reach — a discontent that lessens or alto- 
gether spoils the enjoyments of life but 

from a portion of this vanity not one in a 
thousand is ever wholly emancipated.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” exclaimed the Baron- 
ess ; “ as if vanity had anything to do with 
admiring or not admiring insignificant water- 
works! ” 

“ I don’t think you quite understand Ru 
pert ” began Fernanda. 

“J don’t want to understand him. I hat* 
moralizing in a place of this kind.” 

“ And yet,” said Rupert, assuming an air 
of mock gravity as he looked round him, 
“and yet, in just such places, in summer as- 
semblies of this kind, the temptation to do 
so is great; especially on vanity, which pre- 
sents itself here in so many different forms.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but you might just as well 
talk in this way in a ball-room as here.” 

“ I have not time at a ball,” said Rupert 
“ Either I am too busy dancing, or too much 
occupied with my own vanities to observe 
others ! ” 

“ Is it possible,” cried Mademoiselle de 
Bockenheim, with a silly simper, “ is it pos- 
sible that men are vain in ball-rooms? I 
thought it was only women who were young 
or handsome who had a right to be vain ! ” 

“I am inclined to dispute the right of eithei 
man or woman,” answered Rupert ; “ but 1 
believe the quality itself is very equally di- 
vided between them.” 

“ And do you mean to say that you care 
about — about people admiring — or — or liking 
you — and wishing to dance w T ith you, and all 
that! ” 

“ Most certainly — and you cannot be more 
flattered at receiving our attentions, than we 
are in perceiving their effects, of which we 
can judge w r ith surprising nicety.” 

“ I think, Adlerkron, you are making very 
unnecessary confessions,” observed Count 
Glaneck, smiling. 

“Mademoiselle de Bockenheim has taken 
advantage of my simplicity,” said Rupert, 
“but the rest shall be made to my cousins, 
who, I rather expect, will accompany me to 
the Monat-schloss (Mont Castle), which they 
tell me is so called from having been built 
by an eccentric Englishman in exactly thirty 
days.” 

He looked at Cyrilla, but 6he did not movs 
until desired to do so by the Baroness 


•« 


C TRILL A 


/ 


Notwithstanding his explanation, she had 
discovered the lurking hope that had induced 
him voluntarily to become an inmate of his 
aunt’s house ; knew there was /hut one line 
of conduct henceforth for her, and resolved 
to pursue it steadily. She accompanied her 
eousin, but so concientiously avoided ahy re- 
newal of their former unreserved intercourse, 
that Rupert, piqued and irritated, turned 
completely to Fernanda, not only for the re- 
mainder of that day, but also the succeeding 
ones, and Cyrilla soon found herself in the 
isolated position that she had endeavoured to 
obtain, but which, to an affectionate disposi- 
tion such as hers, was infinitely painful. 

All Fernanda’s spare time was thencefor- 
ward devoted to Rupert ; she sung with him, 
talked to him, and walked with him more 
than Cyrilla herself had done at Freilands. 
She seemed to delight in his gaiet}’, entered 
into all his plans of amusement, and received 
gratefully, and without hesitation, not only 
all the attentions and presents he was dis- 
posed to bestow on her, but also those which 
Cyrilla thought it her duty to decline ; and 
at length the latter, with a mixture of feel- 
ings which she found it impossible to under- 
stand, began to contemplate Rupert as the 
future husband of her sister. All the ad- 
vantages of so desirable a connection rose 
distinctly before her ; all his estimable qual- 
ities became evident ; all she had ever heard 
in his praise recurred to her memory. Of 
her sister’s happiness she felt perfectly as- 
sured, and yet— -her satisfaction was not as 
unalloyed as she thought it ought to be. 
She endeavoured quietly, and as she sup- 
posed imperceptibly, to absent herself from 
the drawing-room ; but although she merely 
took her work, book, or drawing materials 
into the adjoining apartment, in which her 
aunt and Count Glaneek were sitting, and 
that the doors of communication still contin- 
ued open, the change was disagreeable to 
Rupert, and he soon began to ride into Salz ■ 
burg and make engagements there, not un- 
frequently dining with the officers, or joining 
them in hunting excursions, which prolonged 
his absenee to several days. Ilis aunt was 
first surprised, then offended ; said that he 
made a hotel of her house, leaving her his 
rooms and horses; going off and coming 
ack just as suited his convenience — all very 
well if but she would have an expla- 

nation with him the very next time they 
met. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The projected explanation did not take place, 
Although the day on which Rupert returned, 
after a long absence in the Tyrol, was of 
that description generally chosen by the Ba- 
roness for “ explanations,” especially with 
her nieces, lawyer, steward, or housekeeper. 
It was one of those days on which the ba- 
rometer falls suddenly to wind and rain, and 
no tapping of impatient fingers will raise the 
quicksilver even to the convex form that ad- 
mits of hope. The air was perceptibly 
warm, the sky blue, the 9 m shining brightly 


— no one but a weather-wise inhabitant of 
Salzburg could have watched with an eye 
of suspicion the small white cloud that hung 
so lightly over the Bavarian mountains in 
the west, and which, like the first thought 
of evil, seemed to the careless unworthy of 
consideration ; but while windless sunshine 
glowed around the villa, the atmosphere in 
which the cloud hovered was evidently in 
commotion, moving backwards and forwards, 
its size imperceptibly increased, and at 
length, like a long dark serpent, it began to 
wind itself round the summit of the nearest 
mountain, behind which, about the same 
time, masses of heavy threatening clouds 
rose, and slowly crept along the sky. Ru- 
pert, who was in an open carriage on the 
road beneath, with some friends, first laughed 
at their predictions of storm, rain, and hail ; 
but no sooner perceived the sun covered and 
the gloom momentarily increasing, than he 
became as willing as the others to hurry for- 
ward. lie drove at a furious rate into Salz- 
burg, reached it before the storm commenced; 
but such is the perverseness of human nature 
when in the form of young and daring men, 
that Rupert, delighted with the excitement, 
after having left his companions at the gate 
of the barracks, determined to go at once to 
his aunt’s. Remonstrances were vain ; he 
gave the rein to his half-frightened, half- 
irritated horses, and reached the river side 
just as the thunder began to roll, and the 
wind swept in long gusts along the road, 
bending the trees, and raising whirlwinds of 
dust. Unable to see more than a few yards 
before him, the heads of the leaders not un- 
frequently invisible, and his light carriage 
swinging from side to side with each motion 
of the bounding horses, he was more rejoiced 
than he would perhaps have chosen to ac- 
knowledge when he reached the turn to the 
Baroness’s villa. Short as was the remaining 
way, he was completely wet through before 
he reached the house, and was obliged a+ 
once to take refuge in liis room. % 0 

As he was leisurely completing an unusu- 
ally elaborate toilet, and carefully endeav- 
ouring to erase the traces of some days’ neg- 
lect from his long moustache, his aunt sent 
to request that he would “come to her with 
out a moment’s delay ; ” but, accustomed to 
such messages from her, he attached no sort 
of importance to it, and descended half an 
hour afterwards to the drawing-room with- 
out the^l'ghtest presentiment that the storm 
withi^-ioors was scarcely inferior to that 
without. 

The Baroness was walking up and down 
the apar hu mt waving her pocket-handker- 
chief, nk^li)eaking loudly and angrily. Cy- 
rilla bei^Vver some Alpine flowers which 
were scattered on the table before her, and 
unconsciously played with them, while her 
eyes were anxiously fixed on her sister, who 
stood near the window apparently unmoved, 
her arms slightly crossed, her head erect, 
gazing at the falling rain as intently as if 
endeavouring to count the drops. 

“0 Rupert,” exclaimed his aunt the mo- 
ment he appeared, “never did you arrive 
more opportunely. As the head of our fam 

r \ i 


CYRILLA. 


i!j, you have a right to give an opinion on 

ecasions of this hind ; and though Fernanda 
N *ays it will be a matter of indifference to 
you who she may marry ” 

“A matter of indifference to me! ” cried 
Rupert, turning quickly to his cousin; “no- 
thing concerning Fernanda can ever be a 
matter of indifference to me ; and as to who 
she may marry,” he added gaily, “I think 
there are so very few worthy of her, that I 
feel tempted to refuse my consent before- 
hand.” 

“ No jesting, Rupert,” cried his aunt impa- 
tiently: “this is no jesting matter, I assure 
you, — even Count Glaneck, who was present 
when I received the letter, seemed quite 
shocked at the very idea of such a thing! ” 

“ Indeed ! Then he is not the man we are 
about to refuse ? ” 

“ Can you not be serious for five minutes, 
Rupert? One would really suppose you 
might be so at least, when one of your near- 
est relations is about to make a most odious 
and unsuitable connection.” 

“ Fernanda is the last person in the world 
likely to do anything of that kind,” said Ru- 
pert, composedly. “ My confidence in her is 
unbounded.” 

“And yet she has just declared her inten- 
tion of marrying Colonel Bockenheim ! ” 

“ Colonel Bockenheim ! ” repeated Rupert, 
amazed. “I — I never thought of him.” 

“Nor I,” said his aunt, “nor any of us — 
not even Fernanda herself, most probably, 
until about an hour ago, when I received a 
letter demanding her hand, and asking what 
I was disposed to settle on her in the first in- 
stance! First or last, not a florin, not a 
kreutzer! I will not even give her the 
burgher-like trousseau befitting the station 
for which she seems to have so decided a 
predilection.” 

“ The predilection is, in this case I should 
suppose, for the man,” observed Rupert, 
gravely. 

“ Ah, bah ! How can a girl of her age feel 
anything of the kind for an elderly, bald- 
headed, pensioned colonel of dragoons, — a 
widower, without title or connexion, or ” 

“As to that,” said Rupert, “in these en- 
lightened days prejudices respecting rank 
are ” 

“Don’t talk revolutionary nonsense,” cried 
his aunt, interrupting him angrily; “but re- 
member that you are the head of an ancient 
family, and ought to point out to Fernanda 
that she is about to demean herself and all 
of us. One would really imagine you were 
disposed ta agree with her in thinking it 
quite a desirable match.” 

“ By no means,” cried Rupert, hastily. “I 
“7-1 cannot approve — wish I mean to say — 
that is — in short, I think, instead of speaking 
icoffingly of Colonel Bockenheim, it would 
be better to talk reasonably to Fernanda.” 

“ Talk to her in any way you please,” said 
his aunt , “perhaps you may make more im- 
pression on her than I have done; but don’t 
listen to anything she may say about her de- 
pendent situation or wanting a home.” 

“Excuse me,” said Rupert, “ but I think if 
she listen to us we are bou> d to listen to her.” 



8S 

“ But it is not true. I am quite willing to 
let her live with me, and have told her re- 
peatedly that I have no sort of objection to 
having her in my house.” 

“ I dare say not ; but the question is, wheth- 
er or not she choose to remain in it. Fer- 
nanda, will you forgive my interference- 
will you allow me to offer advice ? ” 

“ She must, she shall,” cried his aunt. “ It 
is your duty to interfere on this occasion, and 
I insist on your doing so.” 

“Dreadful responsibility,” exclaimed Ru- 
pert, lialf-laughing as she left the room ; “ but 
we are not going to act tableaux for your 
amusement I can tell you,” he added, nodding 
to her, and then quietly and carefully closing 
the doors between the rooms. 

“ Now, Fernanda,” he said, seating himself 
with mock deliberation in a large arm-chair, 
“you see that necessity, and my aunt’s com- 
mands, compel me to lecture you. Come 
here and listen to the suggestions of pru- 
dence, and the words of warning offered you 
by -‘the head of your family.’ ” 

But Fernanda stood immovable, determi- 
nation legible in every feature of her face. 

“You look uncommonly refractory,” he 
continued : “ will you not favour me with 
your confidence, and let me know the partic- 
ulars of this equally strange and sudden ma- 
trimonial project ? ” 

“All this may be very amusing to you, 
Rupert,” said Fernanda petulantly, a 3 she 
threw herself into the nearest chair, “ but, 
unfortunately, /cannot find it so.” 

“Nonsense! you don’t mean to say that 
you attach any importance to what my aunt 
lias said ? ” 

“No, nor to what you may say either.” 

“ Vfhy, this is actual rebellion !” cried Ru- 
pert, rolling his chair ..towards hers, so as to 
have a full view of her face. “ O, you are in 
earnest, real downright earnest I perceive, 
and — I — must believe all that my aunt has 
said.” 

Fernanda turned her head away from him, 
and remained silent. 

“ Will you or will you not speak to me ? ” 
he asked after a pause. 

“ I — cannot.” 

“And why ? Just fancy me your — your — * 
grandfather, or something of that sort, for the 
next half-hour.” 

“My grandfather? that would be a stretch 
of the imagination.” 

“ Brother I should have said, perhaps, but 
that is too rorqantic for me, and rather dan* 
gerous into the bargain.” 

“ Dangerous ? ” 

“ Yes, make-believe brothers so often turn 
into lovers you know.” 

“ Do they ? ” said Fernanda with ill-con- 
cealed embarrassment, as she played with a 
bracelet that Rupert had given her the day 
after his arrival. 

“In novels always, at least as far as my 
experience goes; and novels they say are, or 
ought to be, pictures of life. I have often 
wished for sisters, that is, real sisters, and re- 
joiced that I had something so nearly re- 
sembling them as cousins.” 

“ I should not have thought so,” said Fer 


14 


CYRILLA. 


nan da. “ Y ou did not show any inclination to 
see or know us after our return to Germany.” 

She was surprised at the impression these 
words made on him. More than a minute 
elapsed before he said gravely: “My dila- 
toriness was severely punished ; it prejudiced 
Cyrilla against me — and — you too seem not 
to have forgotten or forgiven it” 

Fernanda attempted to deny this, but she 
stammered and became confused. He did 
not perceive it, and continued quietly : “ O, 
I know you have both learned to tolerate me, 
— most people contrive to do that some way 
or other ; but you know I wished for some- 
thing more, and aspired to what you profess 
to feel for Colonel Bockenlieim.” 

“ Colonel Bockenheim ” repeated 

Fernanda, her colour increasing, and her em- 
barrassment so evident, that Rupert at last 
became aware of it, and said : 

“ Excuse my haying doubted the possibili- 
ty of your being determined to marry him 

I begin to fear that I may offend you, 

if I say that it seems odd to me your finding 

anything congenial or attractive ...... 

in a man so so ” 

“ So very dull as Colonel Bockenheim, you 
would say,” interrupted Fernanda. “It is 
true, he is not gay, or handsome, or young ; 
but I think I shall be able to like him tolera- 
bly well before long, and ” 

“ My dear Fernauda, if you only tolerate, 
or hope in time to tolerate the man, I can sin- 
cerely join my aunt in endeavouring to dis- 
suade you from a marriage so little likely to 
conduce to your happiness : let her write the 
answer to his letter that she wishes.” 

“ If you could put yourself into my place, 
Rupert, for half-an-hour, you would speak dif- 
ferently. Remember, I am poor and plain, 
and most uncomfortably situated here. Cy- 
rilla will probably return to Exfort; Melanie 
and the President have both urged her to do 
so, and then I shall be alone in this house — 
alone with my aunt, without any one to care 
for me, or any one that I can care for near 
me ; but you cannot even imagine the dreari- 
ness of 6ucli an existence.” 

“ I think I can,” answered Rupert, musing- 
ly ; “but, a is it not possible to find 

some one more suited to you than this Colonel 
Bockenheim ? ” 

“ You mean in point of rank ? ” 

“ I mean in every way.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but you forget that I must be 
chosen. Ugly women have even less chance 
of choice than others ; and the sooner they 
learn to admire and love, without expecting 
a return, the better for them.” 

“ The better for us all,” said Rupert : “ there 
are few who have not at one time or other 
experienced something of the kind.” 

“ You have not, I am sure,” said Fernanda. 

“Your doubt would be very flattering if I 
were not aware that you knew the contrary 
to be the case.” 

“I I . ... know nothing I ” 

“ Is it possible that Cyrilla did not tell you?” 

Every trace of colour forsook Fernanda’s 
features, as she looked inquiringly towards 
the end of the room, where her sister sat. 
Cyrilla avoided her glance, by laying her head 


on the arm extended along the table bef >r« 
her, and as she did so her long fair ringlet* 
mixed oddly with the wild flowers scattered 
upon it 

A pause ensued ; Rupert broke it by spy- 
ing : “ There is no use in talking of that now 
it was the first great disappointment of my 
life — the second has been the discovery, that 
even the friendship which I hoped would al- 
ways exist between us has since been alto- 
gether withdrawn on Cyrilla’s side.” 

Perhaps he expected this last assertion to 
be contradicted; he watched eagerly his 
cousin’s motionless form for a few moments, 
and then turned completely away from her. 

“We have wandered from our subject, 
Fernanda ; and, between my own concerns 
and yours, I now feel a little confused. As 
well as I can understand, however, it seems 
that the wish to leave my aunt’s protection, 
as she calls it, is sufficiently strong to make 
you willing to accept that of any other per- 
son then, why not mine ? ” 

Fernanda shook her head despondingly. 

“The whole excellence of this plan never 
struck me until this moment,” he continued, 
pushing his chair still closer to liers. 

“ Impossible, Rupert, unless you 

were married.” 

“But don’t you think, just at first, an el- 
derly relation would do as well as a wife? 
An aunt of my mother’s might be induced 
to live with us with you on cer- 
tain conditions ” 

Fernanda hesitated ; indefinite but plea- 
sant visions of Rupert’s house and Rupert’s 
self rose before her, and for a moment her 
feelings overpowered her judgment. She 
approached her sister, and, placing her hand 
on her shoulder, bent down, and whispered ; 
“ What do you think, Cyrilla ? Can we 
? ought we ? ” 

“ / cannot, I ought not,” answered Cyrilla, 
looking up sorrowfully. 

“Ask her if she choose to live at Froi- 
lands,” said Rupert, “ if I promise never tc 
go there f ” 

“No,” 6aid Fernanda; “ 6he is right — it 
would never answer.” 

“Then,” said Rupert, with some impatience, 
“you must now point out to me in what way 
I can be of use to you ” 

“You can do nothing for us,” said Fernan- 
da, regaining her usual decision of manner; 
“ we must act for ourselves.” 

“ And, a what do you mean to dc 

about Bockenheim ? ” 

“ My aunt may write what she pleases — 
that is, in civil terms.” 

“O, she will be civil enough, I have no 
doubt, as she most probably wishes to retain 
him for her winter whist-table. You will 
not mind meeting him, I suppose f ” 

“Not at all,” answered Fernanda, calmly; 
“ my aunt was quite right when she said I 
had never thought of him until about two 
hours ago.” 

“ There is something in this business that 
Ido not yet understand,” said Rupert; “you 
must have had some h'.dden motive for pre- 
tending to wish to mairy Bockenheim ; that 
it was pretence I have no longer a doubt 1 ” 


CYRILLA 


II 


M Not so much ad you suppose,” said Fer- 
nanda, a sudden flush passing across her face. 
“ I have resolved to marry as soon as I can, 
Jn order to leave this house. Common sense 
tells me that my choice will be greatly re- 
stricted ; I do not particularly like, but 
neither do I at all dislike, Colonel Bocken- 
heim ” 

‘•Perhaps you do particularly like some 
one else,” said Rupert, quickly. 

“Perhaps I do.” 

“Ah!” cried Rupert; “now I know where 
we are. All other men having become indif- 
/ferent to us, or not in any way bearing a 
comparison with our paragon, we ” 

“ Spare me, Rupert,” cried Fernanda, with 
ill-concealed emotion; “from you at least I 
never expected scorn or ridicule.” 

“ Nothing was further from my thoughts,” 
said Rupert, apologetically ; “ I assure you I 
have such a high opinion of your sense and 
judgment, that I am convinced whoever you 
think worth liking must must be a capital fel- 
low, and I quite long to be acquainted with 
him. Perhaps I know’ him already. Have 
I not seen him here ? Just tell me his name, 
and leave me to manage the rest.” 

“There is nothing to manage,” answered 
Fernanda, with forced composure ; “ he has 

never thought of me, and I more than 

suspect is attached to some one else.” 

“You may be mistaken,” said Rupert 
musingly ; “ lie may have motives for silence 
unknown to you ; and as to his never having 
thought of you, 1 cannot believe it.” 

Fernanda looked up suddenly, watched her 
cousin’s thoughtful mien intently for a few 
seconds, and then left the room. 

lie rose, approached Cyrilla, and said al- 
most in a whisper: “She imagines him at- 
tached to my aunt ; I cannot believe anything 
so preposterous.” 

“ Whom do you mean ? ” 

“ Glaneck.” 

“ 0 no : he does not care for any one par- 
ticularly, and comes here from habit.” 

“ Others may have done so, but Glaneck is 
not a man likely to spend day after day here, if 
it Avere not either on your account or Fernan- 
da’s ; but perhaps he prefers you ? ” 

“ Certainly not ; if he have a preference it 
is for her.” 

“ Then it must be as I have long supposed, 
and I will find out the state of the case this 
very evening.” 

“ O no, pray don’t ; you will only make the 
confusion greater.” 

“ There will be no confusion at all now.” 

“There will, and of the most disagreeable 
kind. entreat of you to let the matter rest, 
and if^er to speak of it again.” 

“Impossible, Cyrilla! If 1 do, Fernanda 
will make some inconsiderate marriage that 
she may repent all the rest of her life. 
Things of that kind are quite common in our 
family, though none of us have been supposed 
deficient in intellect, I could name a dozen 
Adlerkrons, men and women, who have mar- 
ried in a most ^conceivably hasty and 
thoughtless manner : one might really think 

were hereditary ! ” 

Cyuulla began to ha *e some misgivings on 


this subject herself, but she did not attempt 
to speak until she saw Rupert at the door 
leading into her aunt’s drawing-room: then, 
she sprang towards him, and laying her hand 
on his arm, entreated of him to wait a mo- 
ment — “ only one moment.” 

“A whole hour if you wish it,” said Rupert, 
turning hack slowly, and watching with some 
surprise her varying colour. 

“ I don’t know whether or not I ought to 


speak Perhaps it is wrong to betray 

Fernanda but to prevent unpleasant 


mistakes, and — and — promote her happiness, 

I must tell you . ... that I am sure 

she did hot mean. did not think 

of Count Glaneck just now.” 

“ I am sorry to hear it---Polyak, perhaps ? ” 
“ 0, no.” 

“Who then?” 


“ I believe I think I am 

almost sure it wjw you .” 


“ What ! ” he exclaimed, drawing her to- 
wards the window, and looking inquiringly 
in her face — “ What do you mean ? ” 

“I mean that Fernanda likes you,” she an- 
swered hurriedly ; “ and oh, Rupert, if you 
could ” 

“ N-o, Cyrilla, I can-not. I like Fer- 

nanda — like her as you like me — do you un- 
derstand ? And she I trust, feels the 

same regard for me, but nothing else, I am 
convinced. How much more probable is it 
that she who is so rational should have at- 
tached herself to Glaneck, whom she has 
known a whole year, and seen every day, 
and almost all day, during that time, than to 
me an acquaintance of a few weeks, of whom 
she knows little or nothing ? ” 

“But one becomes so intimate with you in 
a short time,” said Cyrilla; and she added 
with a slight blush, “ and you certainly did 
at first pay her very marked attention.” 

“Not more than I do t<~ any woman whs 
sings well and talks agreeao^ 

“I am afraid she was not awu. of this 
habit of yours.” 

“ The misunderstanding, if there be one,” 
said Rupert, “ arose from her not knowing my 
luckless attachment to you ; but I am still in- 
clined to suspect that Glaneck ” 

“ I assure you,” said Cyrilla, “ that he 
comes here merely to talk to my aunt.” 

“ Polyak did I believe,” rejoined Rupert ; 
“ but lie was still young enough to admire 
elderly women. Glaneck is long past all that : 
his regiment leaves in a few weeks. Per- 
haps he wished to defer an explanation until 
just before his departure. For a variety of 

reasons I can imagine that possible I 

wonder what my aunt will say: she can 
scarcely object to so unexceptionable a 
parti .” 

“You talk as if it were quite a settled 
thing ! ” 

“I am greatly mistaken if it be not so this 
evening,” replied Rupert, smiling. “Gla- 
neck, I know, has long been in search of a 
wife, or, as lie amiably expresses it, ‘ a mo- 
ther for his children ; ’ and, if Fernanda 
thought old Bockenheim’s proposal worth 
consideration, she is not likely to refuse a 
better man. Reserve cn her part would b# 




CYRILLA. 


£6 

ridiculous, after the very decided declaration 
of matrimonial intentions that she has just 
made ! ” 

“ Rupert,” said Cyrilla reproachfully, “ you 
are laughing at her.” 

“By no means. She is as prudent as I ex- 
pected to have found you a year ago, when 
you proved far more romantic than even 
Melanie herself! ” 

“You are evidently displeased with us 
both,*’ said Cyrilla, “ and may call me roman- 
tic or anything you like; but do not say 
Fernanda is prudent in a tone and with a 
look that changes the meaning into worldly.” 

“Or wise,” said Rupert, quietly. “Fer- 
nanda will nevefOet her imagination run 
away with her rqjjkon. Her desires are mo- 
derate, therefore ’TIkely to be fulfilled, and 
6he lias every chance of being a contented, if 
not a perfectly happy, woman.” 

At this moment a servant appeared to an- 
nounce dinner. The doors were widely open- 
ed, and the Baroness immediately approached 
Rupert. 

“ All right,” he said, nodding his head. 

“ Do you mean that she has given him up 
altogether ? ” 

“Yes; you may despatch a courier into 
Salzburg as soon as you please.” 

“ Had you much difficulty ? ” 

“ None whatevor : she did not care about 
him. Where is Glaneck ? I thought I saw 
him pass the wundow just now. Don’t say 
anything to him about Fernanda’s having 
even for an hour intended to accept this pro- 
posal.” 

“ Of course not,” said the Baroness. “ He 
seemed to be quite astonished at Colonel 
Bockenheim’s effrontery in addressing one of 
my nieces ! Quite annoyed about it, I assure 
you ! ” 

“I dare say he was.” 

“And thorn* 1 ' obliged to return to Salz- 
burg,” she ^mued, “he said that nothing 
should x event his coming back to hear the 
result of my conference with her.” 

“I am very glad the storm delayed his 

return until now ” said Rupert ; and 

then he stopped, for at the same moment 
Count Glaneck and Fernanda entered the 
room by different doors, and they all went 
to dinner. 

The thunder-storm had passed over, and 
the door and windows into a rustic verandah 
were open to admit the cool air, redolent of 
perfume from the flower garden. Bright 
sunbeams began to force their way through 
the trellis and its clinging foliage, seeming 
to flutter round the massive silver coffee- 
service which was being arranged in its 
shade, and Rupert, as he rose from table, ex- 
claimed: “How fresh and gay the garden 
looks this evening ! ” then, having walked 
nit, and taken a view of the long variegated 
plain before him, with the Bavarian moun- 
tains rising suddenly at the end of it, in all 
the distinctness of a clarified atmosphere, he 
added, “ How magnificent ! What are parks 
and pleasure-grounds compared to such a 
view as this t All the efforts of man to make 
a place sink into insignificance when com- 
pared with nature on such a scale.” 


“A splendid i bmain without the expenw 
of keeping it ir. order,” observed his aunt, 
with an appearance of satisfaction. “I can 
suppose it mine, although my actual property 
does not extend beyond that low hedge ai 
the end of the garden.” 

“ If you ever feel disposed to sell, let m« 
know,” said Rupert, 

“You shall have it cheap, if,” she added, 
playfully touching his right hand, “if you 
will consent to wear a plain gold ring on 
one of these fingers.” 

“Eight or ten years hence we will talk 
about that,” answered Rupert, composedly \ 
“ and I shall not forget your offer, as I have 
never seen any place so well adapted for 
spending a lune de tniel as this — no long 
wandering corridors and endless suites ol 
rooms, where people lose each other, but 
everything nice, compact, and small. The 
b'oujoir for moments of sentiment; this ve- 
randah for vows of eternal love though 

I fear that the view from both is so grand, so 
sublime, that it would serve to remind one 
continually of the insignificance of oneself, 
and all one’s sayings and doings.” 

“I never found that the view reminded 
me of any such thing,” said the Baroness. 
“ Our sayings and doings are very often oi 
great importance to ourselves, and not unfr*- 
quently to others also,” she added, glancing 
towards Cyrilla, who, leaning against the 
trellis, was twisting a branch of honeysuckle 
round her wrist. This speech, which was 
intended as a sort of reproach to Rupert, was 
followed by a pause, and then she repeated : 
“Yes; of great importance to others; and it 
I had known as much as I do now, I would 

never have allowed Cyrilla to go to 

Freilands.” 

“I wish,” said Cyrilla, without looking up, 
“ that I were at this moment on the stone 
balcony there, and Melanie beside me.” 

“ I have heard so much about that balco- 
ny,” said her aunt, “ and the lime-tree walk, 
and the lake, that if I did not know some- 
thing of the country in which Freilands i? 
situated, I should have supposed the place a 
perfect paradise.” 

“Melanie and Cyrilla contrived to make it 
very gay,” said Rupert ; “ I have seldom 
spent six weeks more agreeably than I did 
there last year.” 

“And I, never,” said Cyrilla. 

“But it seems you left all your gaiety 
and happiness in the balcony and lime-tree 
walk,” said her aunt, pointedly, “and re- 
turned to us quite a changed being.” 

“During the time that has since inter- 
vened, all the misery of my whole life has 
been crowded,” said Cyrilla, in a low melan- 
choly voice, quite unconscious of the various 
constructions put upon her words. Her aunt 
and Count Glaneck looked towards Rupert, 
who they supposed the principal cause of her 
unhappiness, and seeing that he was appa- 
rently altogether engrossed by the prepara- 
tions for lighting a cigar, they both felt no 
slight degree of indignation, and the words, 
“Insensible fellow,” very nearly escaped f ora 
the lips of the good-natured Count. 

Witt all the tranquillity of conscious .1 


CYKILLA. 


81 


cence, Rupert continued his occupation, and 
then inviting Glaneck to follow his example, 
began to walk up and down the still wet 
gravel walks of the garden. 

The Baroness looked at the saturated' 
ground, the dripping trees and shrubs, and 
then at her very thin shoes, and then hesi- 
tated whether or not she should join them. 
She was one of those women who find it im- 
possible to imagine that their society can 
ever be unacceptable — a not uncommon error 
of those of her sex who have been remarkable 
for beauty in their youth, but one which makes 
them exessively troublesome in their later 
years. On the present occasion, fortunately 
for Rupert’s equanimity, the Baroness heard 
that Colonel Bockenheim had just arrived, 
and requested to speak to her. She turned to 
Fernanda and observed, “ Rupert has told me 
that you have decided on refusing this most 
unsuitable marriage — I shall manage it in the 
least offensive way possible, and intend to 
propose a continuance of Colonel Bocken- 
heim’s visits, which will prevent any one 
from suspecting what has occurred. The less 
that is said or known about affairs of this 
kind, when they are not of a brilliant descrip- 
tion, the better.” 

“Under any circumstances, the less said 
about them the better,” answered Fernanda, 
as her aunt swept past her with an air of 
Importance. 

“ I hope you really think what you have 
just said, Fernanda,” observed Cyrilla, when 
they were alone, “as, in that case, I need 
not fear your displeasure for my silence con- 
cerning Rupert,” 

“You need not fear it, though surprised for 
a moment, and not agreeably, on consideration 
I approve of it. I think every woman is 
bound in honour to preserve a secret of that 
kind, when a man, by a direct appeal to her- 
self, gives her the power of judging and an- 
swering without restraint. I believe — I 
hope I should have acted in the same way 7 , 
had I been tried. With a little more experi- 
ence in these matters, I might have conjec- 
tured that you were the attraction that 
brought and kept Rupert here, but your 
manner towards him has been so unembar- 
rassed, and so nearly bordering on indiffer- 
ence, that a more observant person than I 
am might have been deceived.” 

“ Then I deceived while endeavouring to 
avoid deceit. My object was to prove to 
Rupert that change of circumstances had 
produced no change of feelings.” 

“ I suppose you have acted properly 7 ,” 
said Fernanda, “ but I have little doubt that 
time will produce the change he so evidently 
expects.” 

“ Time,” said Cyrilla, sorrowfully, “ can do 
nothing but add to my wretchedness.” 

“ And is it possible you still continue to 
care for that worthless Zorndorff?” cried 
Fernanda. “Had I been in your place, I 
should have hated him long ago.” 

“ I, too, have thought at times that I al- 
most hated him,” answered Cyrilla, with a 
sigh, “especially lately.” 

“Perhaps,” said Fernanda, bending for- 
wards, and vainly endeavouring to catch her 


sister’s eye, “ perhaps you have lately begun 
to transfer your regard to Rupert?’ 

“ No, no, no,” cried Cyrilla, quickly ; “ cer- 
tainly not — I never thought of such a thing 
— I would not be guilty of such weakness 
for any consideration.” 

“ Guilty !” repeated her sister ; “I should 
think there was neither guilt nor weakness 
in preferring Rupert to all other men.” 

“ Oh, of course not. . . 

“ That is,” said Fernanda, correcting her- 
self, “until one is married to some one else.” 

“ The idea of marriage has strongly taken 
possession of your mind,” observed Cyrilla. 

“ It has,” replied Fernanda ; “ and as we 
are alone, I do rot hesitAe to confess that I 
have resolved to accept the next eligible 
offer, even if but a secrocb edition of Colo- 
nel Bockenheim. Had my mother lived, I 
should have thought and acted differently ; 
as to spending the best years of my life in 
the capacity of companion to my aunt, it is 
a thing to which I will not submit if I can 
help it; besides,” she added, lowering her 
voice, and coming so close to her sister, that 
the same branch of honeysuckle served as 
plaything for both, “ besides, though we are 
perfectly convinced of the — actual — correct- 
ness of my aunt’s mode of life, others think 
ill, and speak disrespectfully of her, and be- 
ing an inmate of her house is decidedly a 
disadvantage to us. What resource have we 
then but marriage ? ” 

Cyrilla did not attempt to answer, and 
Fernanda continued: “Like you, Cyrilla, I 
have had a short dream of first love, but, 
more fortunate than you, I have wakened 
from it quietly and naturally, and nothing 
remains but a faint recollection of hopes, 
doubts, and fears, all the creation of my own 
fancy — nevertheless, it has made me more 
than ever conscious of my desolate position.” 

“You are not more desolate than I am," 
said Cyrilla. 

“ I am,” answered Fernanda ; “ for I feel 
myself quite alone in the world.” 

“Am I nobody?” asked Cyrilla, forcing a 
smile ; “ is my affection worthless ? ” 

“We can be of little use to each other — 
the very ground beneath us is only ours so 
long as our aunt permits us to stand on it,” 
answered Fernanda, bitterly. 

“ I did not mean that — I only think that 
as long as our regard for each other contin- 
ues undiminished, we are not quite desolate." 

“I do not wish to reproach you, Cyrilla; 
but there is no use in trying to conceal that 
your affection for me has greatly diminished 
since your visit to the north of Germany; 
but you have gained Melanie, and she has a 
home to offer you ! She has never proposed 
my going to live with her ; I do not even 
know whether or not I am named in those 
long letters that you receive from her so fre- 
quently. I only hope she has not the folly 
to foster any remnant of interest which you 
may still feel for Count Zorndorff ; it would 
be most unpardonable, most culpable 1 Lis- 
ten to the best advice I can offer you, Cyril- 
la : banish that false avaricious man froic 
your mind, and turn to Rupert ; in promot 
ing his happiness, you will secure your own 




0 Y RILL A. 


Believe me,” she folded, while tears started 
to her e pes, “ I say this without any of the 
worldly motives which you invariably at- 
tribute to me.” 

“I know it,” answered Cyrilla: “ I wish I 
had T^ever been out of the reach of your ad- 
vice ; it would have saved me incalculable 
misery.” 

“ With some resolution and constant em- 
ployment,” said Fernanda, “ I believe that 
any rational woman can in time overcome a 
hopeless affection ; and in a case such as 
yours, where the object has proved so un- 
worthy, I can scarcely imagine any difficulty 
whatever. Such^onduct would have been 
to me a violent Uprooting of all regard ; and 
the best remedwfs then transplanting it 
Into a better soil. 

“ Have none of your plants ever withered 
and died from uprooting and transplant- 
ing ? ” asked Cyrilla, with a melanchoty 
smile, as she saw her sister walk towards a 
collection of exotics, especial objects of her 
care, but which, having been sunk in the 
earth for the summer months, had been 
obliged to bear the brunt of the past storm. 
Either they had been sufficiently bent and 
broken to require all her attention, or she 
wished to end a conversation which was 
useless and painful. The question remained 
unanswered, and when Cyrilla saw her little 
pale hands wandering busily among the 
wrecks of leaves and blossoms, she turned 
into the house with a sigh of regret that her 
interest in such inanimate objects had al- 
most entirely ceased. 

Nearly an hour afterwards Rupert found 
his cousin still occupied with her injured 
plants. He stood beside her for a few min- 
utes, silently watching her; but, perceiving 
that she had no intention of either looking 
up or ceasing her occupation, he observed, 
in a low voice, “Fernanda, I want to speak 
to you.” 

“ Speak .... I can listen to you and tie up 
these fuchias at the same time. Hid you 
ever see anything so beautiful as this 
fulgens? the flowers are quite vermilion 
colored ; and this dear little ‘ microphylla, 
still so tiny that the other plants shade it 
from the wind, and . . . .” 

“ 1 perceive you are thinking too much of 
your fuchias to attend to me,” said Rupert ; 
nut he bent down with his usual urbanity to 
examine the plant. 

“Cyrilla has told me so much about the 
gardens at Freilands, that I naturally con- 
cluded you liked flowers.” 

“ Oh, so I do ... . but just at present yon 
happen to interest me a thousand times 
more than the gardens at Freilands or any- 
where else ; and if you will alkw me to 
continue our last conversation . . . .” 

“No, thank you, Rupert,” cried Fernanda, 
hastily interrupting him, and walking to- 
wards the veranda, “I would rather, if pos- 
sible, forget it altogether. You can easily 
imagine that the recollection is not agreeable 
to me.” 

“Yet I cannot help considering it fortu- 
nate,” aiid Rupert, “that you so candidly 
told me y m were resolved to marry as 


soon as an opportunity offered, in order Vo 
leave my aunt’s house. It induced me to 
seek an explanation with Glaneck just now, 
which has ended most satisfactorily. If, 
however, you do not feel equal or inclined 
to discuss two proposals of marriage in one 
day, why .... I can tell him to come a little 
earlier to-morrow. After having patiently 
endured the alternations of hope and fear 
for so many months with a phlegm perfectly 
inconceivable to me, a few hours .more or 
less can be of little importance to him 
now.” 

“ I don’t .... understand you,” said 

Fernanda, turning around. 

“ Glaneck has desired me to make you an 
offer of his hand in the most approved form. 
My aunt can scarcely disapprove .... or you 
either, if I am not greatly mistaken.” 

“ Rupert Rupert,” cried Fernanda, 

‘you have misunderstood me, and misled 
Count 'Glaneck! ” 

“Not I,” answered Rupert, “though I 
may have precipitated matters. He had 
long made up his mind to ask you to leave 
Salzburg with him. I say, Fernanda, what 
will my aunt say ? ” 

“ I don’t know .... I don’t care I 

but, Rupert, you expect too much from me. 
I cannot resolve so quickly! ” . 

“ Incomprehensible ! ” exclaimed Rupert. 
“You hesitate about Glaneck, who has been 
sincerely attached to } T ou for several months, 
and can perfectly understand and appreciate 
you, and would have accepted Boekenheim 
who . . . .” 

“You need not point out the difference to 
me,” said Fernanda, blushing. “I am per- 
fectly aware of it.” 

“I am sure you are,” said Rupert; “and 
therefore this hesitation on your part sur- 
prises me.” 

“ Can you not make allowance for some 
unwillingness to accept two men in one 
day?” said Fernanda, trying to laugh, but 
with difficulty restraining her tears. 

“ Pshaw ! forget Boekenheim altogether,” 
cried Rupert. “You will have enough to 
think about, I suspect; for Glaneck insists 
that opposition from my aunt is inevitable, 
no matter whom you may choose, as she de- 
termined, even before your mother’s death, 
that you should live with her as companion. 
In fact, she plainly told him so about the 
time he was beginning to think you would 
exactly suit him in the same capacity.” 

Fernanda sat down, and seemed for a few 
minutes to think profoundly. 

“He is waiting for your answer,” said 
Rupert, after a pause. 

“I suppose,” she said, without looking up, 

“ I ought to confess to him or does he 

already know ....?” 

“ He knows nothing,” replied Rupert ; 
“but I recommend you to 1*3 perfectly ex 
plicit with him. Concealments on such oc 
casions only lead to future embarrassments 
and annoyances. He is not unreasonable in 
his expectations, and I am sure will find in 
you exactly what he says he desires, — an 
excellent mother for his children, and ao 
agreeable companion for himself” 


CYKILLA. 


89 


“ I hope so,” said Fernanda, with a deci- 
sion « f tone that perfectly satisfied Rupert, 
and induced him to make a sign to his 
friend, who was not far distant, to approach. 
When Fernanda again looked up, Count 
Glaneck stood before her ; and Rupert, with 
an exaggerated pretence of silence and pre- 
caution, sprang lightly round the corner of 
the house and disappeared. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“That was a scene !” cried Rupert the next 
morning, as soon as he found himself alone 
with his cousins. “ Only prepared for an 
ordinary storm, we were overwhelmed by 
a hurricane. Often as I have seen my aunt 
irritated or angry, anything like what took 
place last night I never witnessed. My 
uncle had a habit of teasing her when they 
were alone, which sometimes led to results 
rather amusing to me when I was a boy. I 
have heard, too, of her having had various 
encounters with her maid of a description 
bordering on the marvellous. I can imagine 
them possible — can believe anything now ! ” 

“My uncle’s patience must often have 
been put to the proof,” observed Fernan- 
da. 

“Not at all, I assure you. To him she 
was by no means disagreeable, — sometimes 
even more attentive than he liked ; and she 
always called him * My Gottfried.’ He was 
attached to her in his own quiet way, too ; 
but her irritability provoked him to amuse 
himself at the expense of her temper. It 
was a bad habit that, with all the aptitude 
of a schoolboy, I learned from him ; and so 
he unconsciously destroyed any feeling of 
respect which, as a child, I might have ac- 
quired for her.” 

“It would not have outlived your child- 
hood, at all events,” said Fernanda. “It is 
precisely the littlenesses of her character 
that make her so intolerably unamiable.” 

“Just so,” said Rupert, “for, excepting 
the occasional outbursts of wrath, it is hard 
to say in what her disagreeableness actually 
consists.” 

“ It is difficult to define, even by those who 
have suffered from it,” rejoined Fernanda; 
“ but as it is said that trifles make the sum 
of human happiness, I am inclined to think 
they may also make the sum of human wretch- 
edness. Living with her, one suffers mental- 
ly what the inhabitants of the tropics suffer 
personally from the stings and bites of innu- 
merable insects.” 

“ Not a bad idea ; and now that we have 
abused her to our hearts’ content, let us de- 
cide upon what is next to be done. That she 
refused to let you marry Bockenheim was all 
fair p that she objects to Glaneck appears so 
outrageously capricious that I can’t help try- 
ing to discover some motive stronger than 
the ostensible one of considering herself ill- 
ased or deceived. You must tell me all you 
know about my uncle’s will, as far as you 
are concerned. I was in Italy when he died, 


and never saw it, though I remember hear- 
ing from his executor on the subject.” 

“ But you know, I suppose,” said Fernan- 
da, “ that my aunt was so angry at having 
to give my mother the five thousand Fried- 
richs d’or bequeathed to her, that for many 
years she never wrote or took the least no- 
tice of us. It was my uncle’s executor who 
informed us that we were to receive the 
same sum each, if we married with her con- 
sent.” 

“ With her consent,” repeated Rupert. “ 0, 
then, it is now quite evident why she will 
not give it.” 

“The will was oddly worded,” said Fer- 
nanda. “ I suppose I had better tell you all 
about it.” 

“Of course.” 

She hesitated for a moment, and then said, 

“ In case of your choosing to marry either 

Cyrilla or or me my aunt is also 

released from the nesessity of paying the five 
thousand Friedrichs d’or, — a sum of that kind 
being considered of no consequence to you, 
and there being so little doubt that you will 
eventually inherit everything. This clause 
was certainly made by my uncle, in order to 
induce her to promote your marriage with 
Cyrilla.” 

“Your mother of course considered all 
this when she consented to remove to Salz- 
burg?” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“And you knew it and Cyrilla ... ...” 

“Cyrilla was purposely kept in igno- 
rance ” 

“ Like the youngest in every famity,” said 
Cyrilla, quietly, “I was considered a child 
long after I had ceased to be one ; but I think 
I ought to have been told everything before 
I went to Exfort.” 

“ It would have made no difference,” said 
Rupert, thoughtfully. “However,” he add- 
ed, quickly, “ let us not think of what is past 
we have a long future before us.” 

“ My future will be a continuation of my : 
present life, without chance of change for 

some years,” said Cyrilla ; “ and then 

perhaps a return to .Melanie.” 

“ Or a removal to me as soon as I become 
stationary,” said Fernanda. 

“You had better consult Count Glaneck 
before you give invitations,” replied Cyrilla, 
with a faint smile. 

“ Let us rather consult him about this pro- 
voking will of my uncle’s,” said Rupert. 

And they did consult him ; and after wait- 
ing a few days and finding the Baroness 
inexorable, Fernanda, at his request, for- 
mally renounced her claim to her uncle’s 
legacy during her aunt’s lifetime, on condi- 
tion that she would at least apparently con- 
sent to the marriage, and prevent their fami 
ly dissensions becoming a subject of conver- 
sation to all the neighbourhood. Greater 
sacrifices have often been made for appear- 
ance’s sake, but Rupert so continually refer- 
red to it — so strenuously insisted on Fernan- 
da’s refusing the Baroness’s paltry presents, 
and receiving her trousseau altogether from 
him, that a feeling of discomfort prevailed 
sufficient to make them all concur in hurry- 


C Y R I L L A . 


X) 




lng forward the preparations as much as 
possible. No one did so more 'willingly than 
Justine, the elderly and tyrannical, who, 
without a word of dissent on the part of 
Count Glaneck, was to accompany Fernanda 
to Italy. 

During the three succeeding weeks there 
was a good deal of hurry and agitation in 
Fernanda’s manner, but she openly and con- 
stantly expressed her satisfaction at tin* pros- 
pect of leaving Salzburg, and attended to 
the minutest details of her trousseau and toi- 
let in a manner that Rupert pronouuced ex- 
emplary. 

The double marriage -ceremony rendered 
necessary by the different religions, was a 
greater trial to (Jyrilla than her sister ; for as 
they returned from Salzburg, and found the 
Protestant clergyman, who had been sum- 
moned from Bavaria, waiting for them in the 
breakfast-room, the recollection of Spa — her 
own marriage and subsequent misery, nearly 
overpowered her. Fernanda 'was perfectly 
calm. She took leave of her aunt with cold 
composure, wTiispered hopes of reunion to 
Cyrilla ; but, as Rupert accompanied her 
down stairs, her fortitude suddenly for- 
sook her, and tears, as plentiful as ever were 
shed by parting bride, fell from her eyes 
while vainly endeavouring to articulate a few 
words of thanks; he answered, laughingly, 
considering it quite natural, proper, and a 
matter of course, that her handkerchief should 
be in requisition until the carriage had turn- 
ed he corner of the street. 

*% No sooner had her sister driven from the 
door than a feeling of utter loneliness and 
dismay took possession of Cyrilla ; and when 
Rupert approached to take leave, she yield- 
ed to a violent burst of grie£ that surprised 
as much as it affected him. Endeavouring to 
console her in what he considered the most 
judicious manner, he assured her that Glan- 
eck was the best fellow in the world ; that 
Fermmda would lead quite a jolly sort of 
# life for the next few years ; and even if they 
did get into bad quarters, they had interest 
and money enough to effect an exchange into 
another regiment, &c., dec., dec., and then he 
kissed her forehead and left her as un- 

conscious as she herself that more than half 
the bitter tears for w T hich he felt so much 
compassion might have been placed to his 
own account — but so it was. .His boundless 
generosity to her sister — his unwearied kind- 
ness to herself, and good-humoured patience 
with her reserve — his cheerfulness and mer- 
ry laughter, so strongly contrasting with the 
growing gloom and ill-temper of her aunt, 
had not failed to make a lasting impression 
on her. The very restraint which she bad 
considered necessary to impose on herself in 
her intercourse with him, had given an im- 
portance not only to his most trifling words 
and actions, but also to her own as far as 
they concerned him, and he had thus natu- 
rally become a prominent object — a subject 
of incessant thought and speculation. 

His absence caused a dreary blank in her 
existence, which, however, she attributed 
wholly to the loss of her sister, and persisted 
in her self-deception so far as to ascribe the 


greater portion c her uneasiness to Tie un 
selfish fear that Fernanda might entertain 
recollections of Rupert that would interfera 
with her happiness ; and she received many 
letters from her sister before she allowed her 
self to be convinced that further anxiety on 
her account would be absurd. 

Then it was that she began to expect a re- 
turn of at least that degree of peace of mind 
or resignation which she had acquired before 
Rupert’s visit — instead of it she felt herself 
daily becoming more and more impatient of 
the bonds that bound her. It was in vain she 
sought to dispel her cares in the society of 
their now constant visiter, Mademoiselle 
Bockenheim. The young lady was of the 
very commonest description of garrison town 
belle, and Cyrilla was soon tired of hearing of 
the officers, their sayings and doings, specu- 
lations as to who could or would marry, and 
wild definitions of the passion or sentiment 
of love, remarkable for nothing but their end- 
less variety. At length, in a fit of unconquer- 
able despondency, she wrote to Melanie re- 
questing her to enter into negotiations with 
Zorndorff, and to use all her influence to find 
out from him, if it were not possible, pri 
vately, to annul a marriage so privately con 
tr acted. 

The answer was that he declined speaking 
on the subject to any one excepting Cyrilla 
herself, and from Melanie a pressing invita- 
tion to return to Exfort. To this she would 
not consent without some explicit declaration 
from Zorndoff — and this he avoided : while 
his messages were of an ambiguity calculated 
to keep Alive her hopes, and induce her t# 
continue a correspondence which he ardent.l ■ 
desired, as the only attainable means of ob- 
taining even indirect communication with 
her, and in the hope of preserving the inter- 
est which he never for a moment doubted 
she still felt in everything that concerned 
him. 



CHAPTER X X Y I. 

Cyrilla’s life for more than a year and a half 
was of the most monotonous description that 
can be well imagined, — not the respectable 
and satisfactory monotony of a succession of 
domestic duties in the fulfilment of which, 
while promoting her own happiness, she 
could essentially conduce to that of others, — 
but in the insipid pleasures and vain pur- 
suits of the world. To her aunt a constant 
round of luxurious dissipation, a continual 
pursuit of amusement, had become second 
nature ; and as the winter approached, Cy 
rilla was slowly and unwillingly drawn into 
the same mode of life that she had formerly 
found so fascinating, but which no longei 
possessed for her a single charm, — not all 
the attention and adulation now offered her 
could for a moment make her forget her 
blighted hopes or cheerless future, — they 
served, however, to raise her in the estima- 
tion of her aunt, who enjoyed to a certain 
degree the reflection of her popul irity, and 
was proportionably contented and free from 
her usual cloudiness of aspect. 


CYRILLA 


91 


The succeeding summer wore away in 
painful recollections and useless regrets ; the 
winter followed, — and without one friend' or 
companion whose society could save her from 
the apathy which had begun to pervade both 
mind and body, she was again preparing to 
commence another tiresome carnival, when 
once more Rupert surprised them with a visit. 
No magic wand ever produced a more com- 
plete change than his presence caused in that 
gloomy house; the -inhabitants seemed sud- 
denly enlivened, the Baroness became almost 
hospitable, the old walls echoed to the sound 
of revelry, the mirrors reflected masks and 
pageants, Cyrilla’s eyes brightened and the 
colour returned to her cheek, again she 
danced without complaining of fatigue, no 
dfty was too cold for sledging, no walk too 
long, if Rupert were of the party ; there was 
an alacrity about the servants, a visible wish 
to be employed, though ever so remotely, in 
his service, the very dogs snarled less, and 
the parrot was loquacious from sympathy, 
and without the usual bon bon bribes. 

It was remarkable that though Rupert still 
professed to think the Austrian officers the 
pleasantest companions imaginable, he seldom 
or never sought their society ; but, after having 
gravely informed his aunt that his habits had 
become singularly domestic of late, he, to her 
infinite satisfaction, spent the greater part of 
each morning either in her drawing-room, or 
in a little apartment with a single window 
and northern aspect, which his cousin had 
converted into a studio. Cyrilla’s pleasure 
on seeing him had been too great for conceal- 
ment. So long without friend or companion, 
what could be more natural than that she 
should be insensibly drawn into frequent and 
interesting conversations ; and, excepting on 
one subject, which was never approached by 
him, they could speak without the slightest 
reserve. He sat beside her when she work- 
ed, near her when she painted ; and, while 
trying to persuade herself that he had ceased 
to think of her otherwise than as a cousin, 
she supposed it unnecessary to avoid his so- 
ciety, as she had done during his former visit, 
and Rupert required a very short time to 
discover that, by degrees, he might claim 
her time and attention altogether. Quietly 
and imperceptibly he assumed the place as- 
signed him by his aunt, ceded to him by 
others, and as in such cases is usual. It was 
nearly the same thing whether they were at 
home or abroad, inclination and the conside- 
rate non-interference of all their acquaintance 
alike facilitated their intercourse, and indu- 
ced them to become almost exclusively occu- 
pied with each other. It was considered a 
settled affair, to which no one had any right 
to object, and soon even ceased to be a sub- 
ject of discussion. 

At length Rupert’s leave of absence drew 
to a close ; and he announced his intention of 
returning to Exfort, where his regiment had 
already been some time in garrison. 

“You will, of course, have some explana- 
tion with Cyrilla before you leave,” said his 
aunt 

“Yea; I think I shall advise her to return i 


to Exfort as soon as possible. Shi saic th« 
other day that she wished to do so.” 

“With you, perhaps?” 

“I did not exactly mean that ; but if yon 
nave no objection, I’m sure I have none. 1 
thought, for propriety’s sake, we should have 
required someone, like old Justine, with us; 
in case, however, that you consider Ursula 
an eligible travelling companion, we shall 
make no difficulties whatever. I have even 
little doubt of being able to persuade Cyrilla 
to leave to-morrow ! ” 

“But, Rupert, you misunderstand me — 
completely, — and, what is worse — poor Cy- 
rilla too. Surely you cannot any longer be 
blind to her attachment? ” 

“Our relationship is so near, that it is diffi- 
cult to ascertain what degree of regard she 

may have bestowed on me ” 

“This is a base subterfuge, unworthy of an 
Adlerkron ! ” exclaimed his aunt. ‘ 

“Strong language,” said Rupert laughing 
“You will compel me to run the chance of 
being refused.” 

“She dare not refuse ! ” cried his aunt, 
going towards the door; “she must not even 
demur ” 

“Stay!” said Rupert; “I will have no 
compulsion on either side. Just leave me to 
manage my own affairs, will you,” he added, 
as he passed her, and walked slowly and 
thoughtfully through the suite of rooms at 
the end of which was Cyrilla’s little studio. 
Having found that oil-painting, with its ab- 
sorbing interests, was the most effectual 
means of banishing her painful reminiscences, 
she had latterly spent hours at her easel. 
The subjects of her paintings were chiefly 
views of the surrounding country, which, 
contrary to her usual habits, she finished 
carefully, as they were destined to serve as 
contributions to the different charities in the 
neighbourhood ; and she felt a sort of satis- 
faction in the idea that her time was not al- 
together misspent, for the paintings soon 
found purchasers, and the sums obtained for 
them were by no means inconsiderable. Ac- 
customed to Rupert’s visits, she did not even 
look up as he entered. A nice observer 
might have perceived a slight flush pass 
across her face as she bent over her palette ; 
she herself was conscious that her hand had 
lost its steadiness; and, while Rupert sat 
down quietly on the old-fashioned sofa, she 
rose, threw aside her painting-wrapper, and, 
without looking at him, asked his opinion of 
her “ cloud on mountain.” 

“ Very pretty — extremely natural.” 

“You are not looking at it, and I rather 
expect you to say something civil about the 
smoke of my burning weeds close to the 
lake. I wish you had been with us last 
summer when I made the sketch ; I dare 
say the Ilinter lake would have appeared 
quite different had I seen it with you ! ” 
“Indeed? And what difference would 
my presence have made ? ” 

“You would have lent me your bright 
coloured glasses to look through.” 

“ Literally or metaphorically ? ” asked 
Rupert. 


19 


CYRILLA. 


“Both” ieplied Cyrilla, smiling; “I in- 
tend you to give me those coloured glasses 
when you are about tc leave Salzburg.” 

“ Then they will be yours to-night — for I 
return to Exfort to-morrow.” 

“ I thought you said you had ap- 

plied for prolonged leave of absence ? ” 

“Stauffen has written to request me to 
return without delay, as he wishes to go to 
his father who is ill.” 

“I do wish you would leave the army, 
Rupert ; it seems such an unnecessary con- 
straint that you put upon your actions.” 

“Perhaps so; but as it is, at the same 
time, my profession, occupation, and, at 
present, my chief subject of interest, you 
must offer to give me an equivalent if I give 
it up. I am, however, quite ready to ca- 
pitulate ” 

“ I don’t understand you.” 

“You wish me to leave the army — I will 
do so on certain conditions — the first is, that 
you return forthwith to Exfort.” 

“O, most willingly, most gladly,” she ex- 
claimed, eagerly, “it would be dreadful to 
remain here now without you; and as Mela- 
nie will probably spend the greater part of 
the summer at Freilands, Exfort lias lost half 

its terrors for me but do you think my 

aunt will consent? ” 

“ She will, if you agree to my second stip- 
ulation, which will save her precisely the 
sum of five thousand Friedrichs d’or ? I be- 
believe that is what my uncle decreed that 
you or Fernanda should pay for me ? ” 

“Oh, Rupert, say any thing but that,” 
cried Cyrilla, interrupting him hastily ; “ it 

cannot be I dare not listen to you.” 

“Surely you are jesting, Cyrilla. You 
cannot all this time have been amusing your- 
self at my expense?” he paused for an an- 
swer, waited for a look, a gesture, in vain. 
Cyrilla, pale as death, stood silently beside 
the sofa, her eyes fixed on the ground witli 
an expression of the deepest anguish. 

“ Now, then,” he continued, slightly frown- 
ing, “you must listen to me. When two 
years ago you answered as you have done 
now, I felt pained and sorry, but not angry 
with you, though a little with myself for 
having mistaken this same liking, as you 
call it, for love. I had also, by my foolish 
lemarks about relationship, prevented you 
from thinking of me; but this is no longer 
the case. If you, indeed, merely like me, I 
:tuist say you have lately acted witli unparal- 
eled coquetry. If your motive for inducing 
ne to remain here has been mere vanity, or 
a selfish desire to be relieved from the tedium 
of my aunt’s society, it is quite unpardonable ; 
for you have been at the same time trifling 
with my happiness, acting witli the greatest 
duplicity, — acting , that is the word, you have 
acted — played a part — pretended to love. I 
*in ashamed,” he added vehemently, “ asham- 
ed to thb k of the manner in which I have 
wasted nr y time here, watching for such 
worthless looks and smiles, and listening to 
such heartless assurances of esteem ! ” 

“ Oh, Rupert spare me I did not 

mean it I I cannot help liking 

you .... so much . . oh, so very much ! ” 


“Hang your liking,” he cried impetumslv 
starting from his seat, “it is love and no! 
lfking I want.” 

“ But if I say love — you will expect me to 
— to marry you. ’ 

“ Most und< Notedly,” he answered, with a 
heightened co ur, a look of uncertainty, 
and then a suciien smile, as he once more 
placed himself beside her. 

“I cannot I dare not the very 

thought is wrong,” cried Cyrilla, anxiously. 

“ What on earth do you mean ? ” asked 
Rupert; and then he added slowly, “If 
Zorndorff were still unmarried, I could sus- 
pect — I might imagine that you had some en- 
gagement with him.” 

Cyrilla turned away her head and re- 
mained silent. 

“So,” continued Rupert reproachfully, 
“though he has notoriously bartered his 
handsome person for money — though he for- 
got the vows I have no doubt he made you 
— though he is the husband of another wo- 
man — you love him still ! ” 

“ Oh no, no, no,” cried Cyrilla, in great agi- 
tation. 

“Then you have chosen some one else, and 

have been using me as a blind this is 

perfectly insufferable I ” 

“No, Rupert, no. I am not so worthless 
as you suppose. I have been weak but not 
wicked Oh, be still my dear kind cou- 

sin ; have patience with me, and pardon me 
if you can.” 

“When I feel less than I do just now,” he 
answered bitterly 7 , “I may perhaps be able 
to do so ; for the present you must allow me 
to decline the continuance of an intimacy 
that can bring me nothing but mortification 
and disappointment. You may be quite 
sure,” he added, bestowing an angry glance 
on her pale cheek and quivering lip, “ that I 
shall henceforward avoid meeting you until 
I can see you with the indifference — you de- 
serve.” 

As he strode quickly through the doorway, 
Cyrilla stood up, pressed her hands tightly 
together, struggled violently with her grief, 
until she supposed him out of hearing, and 
then burying her face in the cushion of the 
sofa, wept as she had done but once before in 
her life; her suppressed sobs shook her whole 
frame, and it was some time before she be 
came conscious that an arm was clasped round 
her, which gently 7 endeavoured to raise her 
from her wretchedness. “Cyrilla, darling,” 
whispered Rupert, “forgive me ; I have been 
ungenerous — unkind — I ought not to have 

thought of myself of what consequence 

is my happiness compared to yours ! ” 

“ Oh, Rupert,” cried Cyrilla passionately 7 , 

“do not leave me if y r ou forsake me I 

shall be utterly friendless.” 

“Forsake you dear love, I never 

thought of such a thing! Shall I write to 
Stauffen and tell him he must wait a few weeks 
longer? or will you let Melanie know that 
she may come herself or send for you ? ” 

“Oh, take me away 7 from this place,” cried 
Cyri 11a, as with still streaming eyes, and un 
steady hand, she drew a letter from he 
pocket. “ Let me again see looks of aff-u 


C Y R LLA 


tion, and hear words of kindness ; take me 

to Melanie This letter,” she continued, 

with a slight blush, “ is from her, and very 
long. I should rather not read it to you ; 
but here are a few lines enclosed from the 
President, containing a most kind and press- 
ing invitation. I did not think he could feel 
so warmly towards any one.” 

“ You don’t know him,” said Rupert, “how 
could you? — his own wife is scarcely ac- 
quainted with him.” 

“She is afraid of him,” rejoined Cyrilla ; 
“in fact, so am I, and so is every one in his 
house ; but I would rather live with him than 
with my aunt. His letter has convinced me 
that he likes me, and wishes my return ; and, 
though he is a severe man, he is not ill-tem- 

perea or tiresome about trifles but why 

should I not tell the truth, and say at once I 
wish for Melanie’s society, and a continuance 
of your affection.” 

“You shall have it,” cried Rupert, warm- 
ly ; “ and without any selfish alloy in future : 
never will I forget that I am your cousin, and 
only your cousin ; never again shall you hear 
a word which might imply that I ever had 
wished it otherwise.” 

Cyrilla blushed so deeply, that she turned 
quite away from him. 

“ But,” continued Rupert, “ you too must 
change your manner, or we shall never get 
on. I am not vainer than other men, I be- 
lieve, but I am neither a stock nor a stone ; 
and if you blush or grow pale every time I 
speak to you, as you have done lately, why 

I cannot help thinking that, after all, 

you do like me better than people generally 
like their cousins.” 

*“ And if I did, it would be of little avail, 
oound as I am ” 

“Bound!” exclaimed Rupert ; “how so?” 

“In a way that I cannot explain, though I 
think it my duty to tell you of it.” 

“ But not to Zorndorff surely not to 

ZorndorfF ? ” cried Rupert, anxiously. 

“Unfortunately, yes; and by vows from 
which he alone can make me free.” 

“ His marriage must have released you 
from any promise you may have made him,” 
said Rupert, quickly. 

Cyrilla shook her head. 

“He has evidently taken some ungenerous 
advantage of your inexperience,” continued 
Rupert; “but I will go to him, insist on an 
explanation, and ” 

“Stay,” cried Cyrilla, interrupting him; 
“ if you speak in this way, you will make me 
deeply regret my partial confession, and pre- 
vent me from ever speaking to you again 
about this deplorable and sole impediment to 
our union.” 

“ Sole impediment ! ” he repeated joyful- 

>y- 

“ No, no ; I did not mean to say that 

I ” 

“ Do not retract,” said Rupert, smiling ; 
“but let me suppose that some religious or 
moral scruple is all that separates us in fu- 
ture.” 

“Would that* it were only a scruple,” an- 
swered Cyrilla, with a sigh. “ Melanie 
writes in this letter, that Count Zorndorff 


VS 

seems of late more disposed tc relent, and she 
thinks he might be induced to release me 
were I, as he requires, to apply personally to 
him. This is a refinement of cruelty of which 
I did not think him capable.” 

“I might have guessed that something of 
this kind had occurred,” cried Rupert, bitter- 
ly. “I might have known that no woman 
could interest him, without suffering in some 
way or other ! Will you not allow me to in- 
sist on his releasing you from this promise, 
which most probably would only be consid- 
ered binding by a person of extraordinary 
probity ? ” 

“No, Rupert, you must leave all that to 
me ; interference on your part can only serve 
to increase my difficulties.” 

“ But,” began Rupert, “ it may be my duty, 
as your nearest relation, to ” 

“ It will never be your duty, for you can 
only injure me. Promise to preserve my 

secret, let what will happen, or I never 

can never dare speak to you about him 

again.” 

Rupert hesitated. 

“ Promise,” cried Cyrilla, beseechingly, “ pro- 
mise, or you compel me to remain here, and 
resign my last chance of happiness.” 

Rupert promised, most unwillingly, and, 
after a pause, said slowly: “You are aware, 
Cyrilla, that a marriage is sufficient to annul 
all previous engagements.” 

“ I know it does in most cases, though not in 
mine. Do not ask me any questions, but get 
my aunt to consent to my return to Exfort 
without delay.” 

“ I can promise her joyful acquiescence if you 
will consent to an engagement with me.” 

“ But ” began Cyrilla, turning deadly 

pale. 

“ Don’t look so terrified, you inexplicable 
girl,” cried Rupert, laughing ; “ I understand 
perfectly that for the present it is merely con- 
ditional. I do not intend even to speak of it to 
you for three months, or ask your final decision 
for six ! Can any thing be more liberal than 
that ? ” 

“No, certainly,” murmured Cyrilla; “but 
suppose he should refuse after all to ” 

“ He cannot refuse,” cried Rupert, indignant- 
ly, “that is, if he have human feelings, and 
hitherto I have considered him a gentlemanlike 
kind of villain. Now that I see you can speak 
of him calmly, 1 must tell you how much 1 
regret not having known that he was actually 
betrothed to Mademoiselle de Sommerfeld 
when we were at Freilands ; it might have pie- 
vented you from making rash promises.” 

“You said enough to warn me,” replied 
Cyrilla. “Melanie had not heard of it, and 
when we spoke to him on the subject, he in 
some way evaded our questions, and gave me 
to understand that only his father desired the 
marriage, and that on her inheriting her 
brother’s fortune, he had written to say that 
the disparity in their circumstances was greater 
than he could endure, and so the supposed 
engagement had ended.” 

“ But,” said Rupert, “ he forgot to tell you 
that this enormous increase of fortune did not 
become intolerable to him until he had 6een 
you. It was several months after her brother’! 


*4 


CYRILLA. 


death, in fact the evening he left Freilands, 
that he wrote, or rather despatched this re- 
markable letter. I remember his sayiug, that 
he had one ready for date and seal in his writ- 
ing desk he waited until he had spoken to 

you before he sent it off.” 

“I am afraid you are right,” said Gy r ilia, 
thoughtfully; “I was blinded — infatuated at 
that time, in a manner which appears quite in- 
comprehensible to me now.” 

“I suspect Melanie tied the bandage over 
your eyes,” observed Rupert, 

“ Not so,” replied Cyrilla ; “ but she has since 
endeavoured to keep it there.” 

“ Then it is better you should hear the whole 
truth from me, and on your account I was suf- 
ficiently interested in this affair to make minute 
inquiries. From the time that old Sommerfeld 
retired from his bank, he and his family were 
seldom in Berlin. People said that his daughter 
was inclined to somnambulism, sleepwaking, 
nervous attacks, and all that sort of thing ; 
there was a good deal of mystery about her 
altogether, and she was long very dangerously 
ill. When Zorndorff married her, he certainly 
did not expect her to live, as she is now likely 
to do ” 

Cyrilla shuddered. 

“ He ought to have told you the true state of 
the case,” continued Rupert; “and though it 
would have been bad enough breaking off an 
engagement of so many years’ standing, still 
that monstrous increase of fortune was a gentle- 
manly sort of excuse that I can understand; 
and as they say he never cared for her, and 
had been from the first wholly actuated by 
motives of interest, I cannot imagine her being 
so weak as to insist on a marriage, if he had 
told her honestly that he liked some one else 
better. I have reason, however, to believe that 
he entered into no explanation whatever ; but 
satisfied his conscience or his inclinations by 
treating her with such remarkable neglect and 
coldness, that it almost became evident he 
wished to provoke a quarrel — instead of which, 
she bore his ill usage with exemplary patience, 
and never complained, though it is said she had 
a return of sleeping fits, or fainting fits, in con- 
sequence.” 

“ I heard also,” said rilla, “ that he had 
some terrible scenes with his father.” 

“ Why yes ; the General got into a rage, and 
mid, if he were not his son, he should consider 
t his duty to shoot him. But it was not that, 
:>r the fear of being shot by any one, that moved 
Zorndorff; it was old Sommerfeld’s consenting 
to settle his whole fortune in reversion on him, 
in case his daughter should die childless ; add 
to this the apparently dying state of the 
daughter, and Zorndorff’s inordinate longing for 
wealth, and you will comprehend that he sold 
himself less unwillingly than Melanie lias thought 
proper to let you know.” 

“ And you call this geutlemanlike villany ? ” 
said Cyrilla in a low voice. 

M It is, at least, the sort of villany most com- 
monly practised by those denominated noble- 
men and gentlemen ; they often sell themselves, 
perhaps a little less notoriously than Zorndorff ; 
and as to engagements, one sees the most 
publicly contracted broken off. Now, you must 
remember that yours with him was not public, 


not known at all in fact, though it may hav e 
been suspected by a few. I — a — suppose I 
may take it for granted that you have alto- 
gether ceased to care for him ? ” 

“You may,” replied Cyrilla, with a firmness 
that made Rupert suspect some other feeling 
had replaced the affection that had caused her 
so much sorrow. 

“You were so very young,” said Rupert, 

“ that it was scarcely to be expected the im- 
ression made would be sufficiently strong to 
ear, not only absence, but faithlessness ; that 
Zorndorff thought so too is evident, or he would 
never have exacted a promise from you, which 
seems to have been of an unusually solemn 
description.” 

Cyrilla did not speak — she could not, and 
Rupert continued : “ I have now little doubt 
that he hoped to bind you by a religious vow 
or moral obligation, in order to constrain you to 
await his wife’s death. Can you submit to a 
continuance of such a position ? ” He paused, 
Cyrilla still remained silent, and he added, 
“ My aunt is waiting to hear the result of our 
conference — you must allow me to hint at a 
marriage in perspective, if you wish to part 
amicably from her.” 

“ But — but — remember we have no engage- 
ment whatever — never forget that, Rupert — I 
cannot — must not — dare not ” 

“ 0, 1 understand — we understand each other 
at last, I hope. Leave everything to me now, 
and don’t attempt any kind of explanation with 
my aunt.” 

As he soon after entered the drawing-room 
with unusual gravity, the Baroness looked up 
impatiently, and called out, “ Well ? — you have 
been so long absent that I really began to ima- 
gine that foolish girl had dared to make diffi 
culties.” 

“ She makes none about going to Exfort.” 

“ But about your marriage ? ” 

“ O, pray don’t trouble yourself,” said Rupert, 
with affected carelessness ; “ there is no necessity 
for being in a hurry — Cyrilla aud I agree per- 
fectly on that point — we think that, no unfore 
seen obstacles occurring, in about a year or so, 
it may come off.” 

“ Come off? ” 

“Yes — and be got up with all imaginable 
splendour.” 

The Baroness rose with unusual impetuosity, 
and in a harsh voices which echoed through the 
long suite of apartments, called Cyrilla. She 
came slowly aud unwillingly, cast an anxious 
glance towards Rupert, who, leaning back in a 
chair, answered it by a look of intelligence that 
greatly reassured her. “ J hope,” said her 
aunt, frowning, “ I hope you are not the cause 
of this absurd and most unnecessary delay ? ” 

“ It is neither absurd nor unnecessary,” inter- 
posed Rupert. “ I do not choose to be hurried 
on so very important an occasion ; and as you 
are so ungrateful for my recent obedience to 
your commands, I retract the promise which I 
was disposed to make to Cyrilla half an hour 
ago, and altogether decline being bound by any 
sort of engagement ! ” 

“ Rupert ! ” cried his aunt, reproachfully, “ ii 
you only knew how much your uncle desired 
this connexion ?” 

“ You ought to have told me that two year* 


OYRI'LLA 


96 


ago,” he answered, “ ami of his queer will too — 
he might just as well never have named my 
cousins, as to have left them so completely in 
your power ! * 

“How you harp on that detestable subject, 
Rupert ! ” 

“The manner iu which poor dear Fernanda 
has been done out of her little fortune for so 
many years is perfectly scandalous ! ” 

“ She deserved it, for carrying on a system of 
deception in my house for nearly ten months,” 
said the Baroness, who, with the facility pos- 
sessed by most people, had discovered a plau- 
sible mode of justification, not only to others 
but to herself, — “ that was scandalous ! ” 

“ But I have told you twenty times she 
never thought of Glaneck until the evening 
you were informed of it. Surely the affair with 
Bockenheim must make it evident to you ? ” 

“ No,” said his aunt, “ nothing will ever make 
it evident to me; so let us say no more about 
the matter. As to Cyrilla, she shall not leave 
my house or protection without being engaged 
to you ; so if you wish to see her at Exfort, 
you had better put this ring on her finger, and 
” She drew one from hers as she spoke. 

“By no means,” said Rupert, waving his 
hand. “ I should be ashamed to offer her such 
a hideous paltry thing as that — give me the 
diamond and I shall have no objection to bestow 
it on her ; it will better represent the five thou- 
sand Friedrichs d’or, which she must lose one 
way or other it seems.” 

“ I cannot give you this ring,” said the 
Baroness, “it was your uncle’s first present to 
me.” 

“Then Cyrilla must wait until I can find 
something fit for me to offer and for her to ac- 
cept. You will wait, Cyrilla — won’t you? ” 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

It so happened that the evening Cyrilla arrived 
at Exfort there was a ball at the President’s. 
The blaze of light and warm air on the stair- 
case cheered her, and her sister’s enthusiastic 
and the President’s cordial welcome so raised 
her spirits, that at the request of the latter she 
gave up, without much effort, her intention of 
remaining in her own room, even after having 
ascertained that a meeting with Zorndorff 
would be the consequence. 

“ In fact,” said Melanie, “ the sooner you get 
over this first dreaded interview the better ; to 
shun him altogether is impossible, for he is 
often here, and I dare not make any objection, 
you know ; but he has too much tact to annoy 
or embarrass you in any way, and you may be 
sure whatever line of conduct he may adopt 
will be correct.” 

“ Don’t you think I may at least avoid speak- 
ing to him in the first instance ? ” 

“ I fear — not” 

“ What sacrifices one must make to deceive 
the world ! ” exclaimed Cyrilla. 

“ That was hot exactly what I meant,” said 
Melanie. “ I think it would be very injudicious 
to irritate Edouard just now, when his wife is 
beginning to recover her health, and there is at 
last some prospect of his repairing his injustice 


to you as far as he can ; but I am il dined to 
think you will find it difficult tjp have any com- 
munication with him, even if you desire it, as, 
when he is not actually engaged iu his office, 
Margaret scarcely ever allows him out of her 
sight. He seemed greatly annoyed lately by 
her having had a private staircase made from 
her rooms to his study, where he says she lie3 
on the sofa for hours without speaking or re- 
quiring him to speak to her, but following all 
his movements in the most distracting manner 
with her unearthly eyes ! ” 

“ But he likes her now,” interposed Cyrilla, 
“ and shq is young and handsome — you" men- 
tioned in one of your letters that she was con- 
sidered very handsome.” 

“ Some people think her so in her own house, 
which is furnished with a magnificence scarcely 
common in palaces. She always makes me 
think of the descriptions of oriental princesses — 
Edouard receives her guests, and, in a room 
with shaded lamps, she is generally to be found 
reclining on a divan, and enjoying to the fullest 
extent the privileges of a confirmed invalid , 
latterly, however, she has been more inclined 
to exert herself, goes out occasionally, and 
people here begin to say that after all she is 
merely hypochondriacal ! ” 

“ And you, what do you think ? ” asked 
Cyrilla eagerly. 

“ I — don’t — know exactly,” answered Me- 
lanie, “ for I have been on too bad terms with 
Edouard to have seen enough of her to be able 
to judge ; but she interests me greatly, as, 
from all I have heard, I am inclined to think 
that she belongs to the highest class of sensi- 
tives, and is little inferior iu acuteness to the 
true somnambulists, though she requires , mes- 
meric passes to produce sleepwakimr. Edouard 
is extremely guarded when speaking of her, 
and I have only latterly occasionally been pre- 
sent while she was being mesmerized.” 

“ The next time you see him alone . . . ” 

began Cyrilla. 

“ That,” said Melanie, “ is an event of rare 
occurrence now. I cannot send for him as in 
former times ; and it was only the day I last 
wrote to you that, after nearly two years of 
estrangement, h6 came voluntarily to see me, 
asked to renew our former intimacy, spoke of 
you, and seemed so shocked at the account I 
gave him of your joyless life in Salzburg.” , 

“ And you have seen him again, I hope ? ” 
cried Cyrilla. 

“ Yes. but without having had an opportunity 
of speaking to him alone. I intend, however, 
to begin to visit Margaret regularly every day, 
and Edouard cannot always be absent or en- 
gaged when I am there.” 

A message from the President recalled Me- 
lanie to the drawing-room, where Cyrilla, when 
dressed, vainly endeavoured to summon up the 
necessary courage to follow her. Fruitless 
were all her efforts to reason herself out of the 
agitation which seemed every moment to in- 
crease ; and, at the end o£ an hour, she was still 
walking uneasily up and down the apartment 
when her sister again entered it, drew her arm 
within hers, and silently led her towards the 
rooms, whence the sound of music and the 
murmur of voices had long reached her anxioui 
ear. 


II 


C Y RILL A. 


* But one word, Melanie,” jried Cyrilla, stop- 
ping just as the servants, on seeing them ap- 
proach, prepared to throw open the doors : 
“ but one word. Tell me, as exactly as you 
can remember, what he said about me ; let me 
know the very words — you can scarcely ima- 
gine their terrible importance to me now.” 

“ He said that some circumstances had come 
to his knowledge which might, in the course of 
time, enable him to repair his injustice without 
the publicity we had so much reason to dread.” 

“That is quite enough to make me avoid 
doing or saying anything likely to Rritate him,” 
said Cyrilla, taking a long breath. “ I could 
even forgive him all the suffering he has caused 
me if he would only make me free, as I was 
when I first entered this house.” She moved 
on a few steps — hesitated — and then added, 
with some embarrassment, “Just tell me, Me- 
lanie .... is he near the door .... must I be 
close to him all at once ? ” 

“No, dear, he is in the ball-room: I waited 
until he had gone there before I came for you. 
Be courageous, and do not let Wilhelm or any 
one perceive a shadow of change in your man- 
ner,” she whispered, as they entered the draw- 
ing room, where Cyrilla was immediately sur- 
rounded by all her former acquaintances. The 
Bellegardes declared she was enormously im- 
proved, d'une beaute ravissante : they thought 
her hair had grown darker, and they could 
almost fancy her considerably taller than she 
had been two or three years ago 1 

“I’m sure Cyrilla ought to be extremely 
flattered at your remembering her height so 
accurately,” said Melanie ; “ and in fact you 
are quite right; — for during the long and 
dangerous illness after her mother’s death, she 
grew in a very remarkable manner.” 

“ I really had no idea she was so very youth- 
ful,” cried Julie de Lindesmar, laughing; “but 
pray, dear Cyrilla, remain just as you are now, 
as any change must be for the worse. You 
cannot imagine how enchanted we are to have 
you here again, or how much pleasure we 
anticipate when you and Melanie are again at 
Frielands. Rupert has had the theatre there 
finished ; and we intend to get up tableaux, 
comedies, perhaps even an opera ! Virginie is 
coming to us for the summer with her little boy. 
You heard of poor de Rubigny’s untimely 
death ? I told Melanie to write to you about 
it — very shocking, wasn’t it? But, after all, 
there never were two people so little suited to 
each other ! ” 

“ I am surprised that Virginie did not return 
home immediately,” said Cyrilla. 

“ She could not, — her child was ill, and there 
were some unpleasant debts; but I can explain 
all that some other time, — let us think of 
nothing but gaiety at present, — Rupert has 
promised us all sorts of festivities.” 

“ I hope,” observed Madame de Bellegarde, 
* that the 1 genial south ’ has not made you in- 
capable of enjoying our less attractive world 
here ? ” 

“ O, not at all ; you have no idea how I 
longed to return to Exfort .” 

“ Indeed ! Then it is not true that the south 
af Germany is so much more beautiful, and the 
people so much gayer, than in the north ? ” 

“ Th$ country is very magnificent,” answered 


Cyrilla, “and the mass of the people aw, 1 
believe, more inclined to mirth and lead a 
gayer life than here ; but I believe in our class 
there is a great similarity all over Europe; 
and, for my own part, my happiness so com- 
pletely depends on the persons about me, that 
places interest me exactly in proportion to the 
pleasurable associations they produce. Ths 
rose-coloured room, lime-tree walk, and balcony 
at Freilands, are dearer to me than all the 
villas, mountains, lakes, and waterfalls in ths 
neighbourhood of Salzburg.” 

“ Is it possible ! ” exclaimed Melanie ; “ and 
I, little as I know of mountain scenery, can 
never forget the impression it made on me.” 

“I can easily imagine that,” said Cyrilla, 
“ and allow that I prefer such scenery to all 
others ; but painful experience has taught mo 
to admire a beautiful country as I do beautiful 
people, — I like to sketch or paint them, but 
would willingly dispense with either or both to 
obtain a moderate portion of domestic happi- 
ness.” 

“ Good gracious, how wise she has grown ! * 
cried Madame de Bellegarde, raising her lorg- 
nette to examine Cyrilla’s dress. 

“ She is right,” observed the President, who 
was standing near them, and seemed to listen 
to Cyrilla’s words and watch her movement* 
with peculiar interest ; “ quite right. Domestic 
happiness should ever be considered of the first 
importance by a woman.” 

“But surely,” said Melanie deprecatingly, 
“you will at least allow us to admire the 
beauties of nature ? ” 

“ O, certainly ; and at no time are they so 
striking as at an early hour in the morning, and 
then Cyrilla enjoys them, I know.” He turned 
to appeal to her for a corroboration of his re- 
mark, and to remind her of her matutinal walks 
at Freilands, when he observed Rupert ap- 
proach, and, without speaking, led her towards 
the ball-room. The President followed : he 
wished to witness her meeting with Zorndorff, 
who stood with his wife near the entrance ; he 
saw his nephew’s furtive glance, and then 
averted head, while Cyrilla, hurrying on with 
the crowd, passed him, apparently unmoved. 

It is a fine thing that fear of the “ world’s 
dread laugh.” More often than is .suspected 
has it given the cowardly man strength to con- 
ceal his weakness. Still more frequently has 
it enabled a timid woman to hide her wounded 
feelings and suffocating palpitation under an 
appearance of unconcern. Other eyes besides 
the President’s were fixed curiously on Cyrilla 
at that moment, but no one perceived a change 
that could be noted. Rupert himself was sur- 
prised. That she pressed forward with unusual 
eagerness might be from a wish to dance ; that 
she spoke rather confusedly, aud looked round 
her a little wildly for a few minutes, might be 
in consequence of the numerous well-known 
faces that nodded and made other familiar signs 
of recognition from every part of the room. 
But even that soon ceased, and she talked to 
him with all her usual self-possession, quietly 
requesting him to avoid naming Zorndorff to 
her for a day or two, and to remember his pro- 
mise not to ask any further explanation during 
the next three months. When assuring her 
that he had not forgotten their agreement, he 


C Y R I L L a 


91 


laughingly requested permission to use his eyes 
and ears in case an opportunity should occur 
for obtaining information ; and then looked to- 
wards ZorndorfF, and observed that his eyes 
nad followed Cyril la with an expression of 
deep interest, while she altogether avoided . 
looking near the part of the room where she 
knew he was standing; but when the music 
ceased, and they once again were close to each 
other, ZorndorfFs eyes sought the ground, and 
remained fixed there with what Rupert ima- 
gined an instinctive feeling that this time 
Cyrilla must see him, and that he dared not 
meet her glance. Without directly looking at 
him, she had on both occasions seen him ; and, 
finding herself unexpectedly detained by the 
crowd in his neighbourhood, she took refuge in 
a chair just behind the door-way where he 
stood, and as Rupert leaned against the wall 
beside her, they heard the following dialogue: — 

“ So she is our aunt Melanie’s sister 1 And 
this is the Cyrilla who reads and sings so beau 
tifully ! Is she not a sort of relation of ours ? ” 

“ None whatever.” 

“ Connexion, I ought perhaps to say.” 

It scarcely deserves the name.” 

u Whether or not, I must know her, and you 
shall make us acquainted with each other.” 

“ Excuse me, Margaret ; I would rather not.” 

“ And why so ? We shall see her here, and 
she will be invited to our house as a matter of 

course. I must know her. I I wish to 

know her more than any one I ever saw.” 

“ You will not suit each other in the least.” 

“ There you are mistaken, Edouard. I have 
6een a face like hers in dream or vision, and 
lately, too. There is affinity — elective attrac- 
tion — between us ! ” 

“ There is none on her side, I can assure you. 
You will soon perceive that she ao wish 
whatever to know you.” 

“ I shall perceive no such thing. Why should 
she refuse to be my friend, if I entreat her to 
have compassion ou my sufferinxr nerve* 1 I 
know that the emanations from a being so 
young, so pure, so ” 

“ For heavens sake, Margaret, don’t get ex- 
cited ! Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron is not at all 
likely to feel the interest you suppose, and you 
will only be annoyed and disappointed.” 

“ Yet she looked at me as she passed 

almost as if she already knew me. 

She has heard of me, Edouard, I am convinced.” 

Ifa.answer. 

“ 'Inere was meaning in her glance .... and 
in naine, too, perhaps .... for she turned away ” 

This was true. The eager flashing of her 
eves had made a disagreeable impression on 
Cyrilla. 

“ Dr Hurtig says,” she continued, “ that the 
society of the young and healthy is necessary 
to my wellbeing, and where can I find these 
qualities in so attractive a form ? Bring us 
together, Edouard, and let me imbibe from her 
those salutary emanations which are lost on 
others, but might confer health and happiness 
on me 1 ” 

“ If you talk to her in this way, she will 
-hink you mad.” 

Cyrilla rose, and as she walked away with 
Rupert, whispered, “ Is she mad ? ” 

“ No, I believe she is only nervous or hypo- 


chondriacal ; though some } eople say she is a 
demi-somnambulist. At all events, she furnishes 
constant subject of conversation here ; and 
Melanie finds her sc mysteriously interesting 
that I am surprised she did not write to yom 
about her.” 

“ 1 did not feel any curiosity I mean to 

say, I did not choose to hear anything concern- 
ing her.” 

“ You will scarcely be able to avoid seeing 
or hearing of her every day now,” observed 
Rupert. 

“ I am sure,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, 
drawing Cyrilia towards a causcuse, “ I am quite 
sure you two are talking of Margaret Zorndorf£ 
the greatest acquisition that our neighbourhood 
has received for many years 1 " 

“ Indeed ! I should scarcely have supposed 
so. She talks oddly ; and, though very hand- 
some, is the most unearthly-looking woman I 
ever saw.* 

“Well, ma chere , that is just what I mean. 
Earthly people are to be found every day, but 
a woman who walks about in a waking dream, 
who 9ees people’s souls in their right eyes, their 
bodily diseases in their left ” 

“ Nonsense, Adrienne ! ” 

“ Fact, I assure you .... and little blue flame* 
in the eyes of animals, which she says are their 
souls. No, I am wrong ; we women have the 
blue souls — flames, I mean.” 

“ Then, after all, she is a little crazy,” said 
Cyrilla, too much grieved at what she had 
heard to join in her companion’s senseless 
laughter. 

“ Crazy ! not at all. I have heard her, when 
tnduced by her husband to forget herself and 
her nerves, and talk as rationally as either yon 
or I could do.” 

“ I wonder he does not try to make her al- 
ways do so.” 

“ So he does ; and k sometimes dreadfully 
annoyed with us when we encourage her in her 
absurdities. I assure you he has grown intoler- 
ably severe, will not understand the slightest 
badinage , and only the other day said so much 
to me about my heartlessness that I have not 
had courage to draw her out ever since.” 

“ That is praiseworthy on his part.” 

“O, his conduct is altogether very praise- 
worthy they say, though I suspect at home hi* 
patience is not quite so exemplary. But how 
could any one expect him to endure her never 
letting him out of her sight for a moment 1 
Even in society she may generally be seen 
hanging on his arm, watching his looks, and 
listening to eveiy word he speaks. The very 
idea, you know, of such a man as Zorndorff 
being led about by any woman is prepos- 
terous ! ” 

“ I hoped to have heard that they lived 
happily,” said Cyrilla, sincerely. 

“ I am surprised at your caring about th« 
matter,” rejoined Madame de Bellegarde ; “ but 
a 3 it interests you, I must explain that they 
never have any vulgar quarrels, or even di» 
agreements — he is much too sublime for any- 
thing of that kind. That he tries in every way 
to induce her to stay at home, is natural ; but 
she is recovering her health rapidly, and wiB 
no longer do so. I believe, however, that h*r 
strongest motive for going out k, that, wh#e 


ts 


CYRILLA 


from home, lie follows her about like a shadow, 
and while she imagines him actuated altogether 
by admiration and affection, we all know that 
he dreads her being enticed into a quiet corner 
by one of us, and encouraged to make a fool 
of herself. He is more afraid of my sister 
Julie than any one, and certainly, by an affec- 
tation of credulity, she does contrive to make 
her say the most extraordinary things ! ” 

•‘That is not right of Julie,” said Cyrilla, 
with some warmth. 

“Ha! ha! ha! — just what Melanie says; 
but she likes hearing the old speeches, and 
writes them in her note book nevertheless. If 
it had not been for the Zorndorffs, Exfort would 
have been intolerably dull last year — their 
house is beautiful, and exquisitely furnished. 
I must say Count Zorndorff has the most extra- 
ordinary taste for everything of that kind — his 
establishment is perfect, and they are extremely 
hospitable.” 

“ And, in return for their hospitality, you 
laugh at them,” said Cyrilla. 

“ Laugh at him ! oh, no. I should like to 
know who would dare to do that ! but she is 
irresistible. In Paris, Berlin, or Vienna she 
might perhaps have escaped observation ; but 
here she is a star of the first magnitude, a 
treasure, a never-failing fund of amusement ! 
There she is now, going towards Melanie. Did 
you ever see any living being so pale ? * 

Cyrilla looked, and saw a small and very 
delicately formed woman, with her hands 
clasped round one of Zorndorff’s arms. Her 
features were what are generally termed orien- 
tal — fine and sharply marked ; her eyes, large 
and black, appeared still more remarkable 
from the unusually long eyelashes, the dark 
blue veins below, and thick arched eyebrows 
above them. A dress of black velvet con- 
trasted well with her neck and shoulders, which 
were of a death like opaque white ; and the 
tastefully-arranged flowers in her raven glossy 
hair were intended judiciously enough to en- 
liven and supply colour to a face so wan, that 
even the lips were of a gray and shadowy 
hue, scarcely approaching the palest lilac. She 
spoke for a short time rather languidly to some 
people near her, then withdrew her arm from 
Zorndorff’s, and, whispering a few words to 
Melanie, walked w T ith her across the room to 
Cyrilla, and, sinking into the nearest chair, 
amirmured something about wishing to be ac- 
quainted with her, while Mebanie went through 
the usual form with very evident trepidation. 

Cyrilla, though in a most trying position, be- 
tray ed no embarrassment. Her colour increased, 
and her heart 'beat quickly, but she spoke 
calmly and to the purpose, and the sound of 
her gentle voice soon reassured her nervous 
companion, whose hands jerked oddly, as she 
apparently played with her pocket-handker- 
chief. Leaning back in her chair, she listened 
to Cyrilla’s and Madame de Bellegarde’s con- 
versation, without making the slightest effort 
to join in it. The latter discussed all the balls, 
masquerades, marriages, and other social events 
that had taken place at Exfort during the last 
two years, with extraordinary flippancy ; but 
all Cyrilla’s endeavours to draw her new ac- 
quaintance into the discussion, by an occasional 
appeal to her for an opinion, only produced at 


last the observation “That her heahh had 
never allowed her to live in what is called the 
world until she had come to Exfort ; but she 
believed, if it continued to improve as it had 
lately done, she should rather enjoy society than 
otherwise.” 

“ I heard,” said Madame de Bellegarde, bend- 
ing forward, “ that Dr. Hurtig had discovered 
some new mode of mesmerizing, which you had 
found unusually beneficial.” 

“ His mode of treatment is but little changed,” 
replied the Countess Zorndorff. “ If I could 
persuade Edouard to mesmerize me as he did 
in former times, I ” 

“What!” cried Madame de Bellegarde, “is 
it possible that Count Zorndorff can mesmerize ? 
Do you mean that he makes all those queer 
movements, and can put people to sleep, and 
force them to read closed letters, as I once saw 
a man do at Freilands ? Why this is quite 
delicious — positively he shall mesmerize me to 
morrow.” 

As she walked towards Zorndorff, an expres- 
sion of uneasiness passed over the countenance 
of his wife — she began to murmur, in a low 
hurried manner : “He told me never to speak 

to her about it that she only laughed at 

me he will say I have made him a subject 

of ridiculfe as well as myself he will tell me 

that I am wearing out his regard ” 

Cyrilla’s eyes followed Madame de Belle- 
garde, and she perceived that Zorndorff listened 
to her bantering speech with a supercilious 
smile, and answered it with a few words, which, 
quietly as they seemed to be spoken, must have 
been of a peculiarly disagreeable or scoffing 
description, for she turned from him angrily, 
saying, that since his marriage he had become 
a perfect bear. 

Cyrilla felt a small light hand touch hers, 
and looking round, met the fixed gaze of the 
Countess Zorndorff ’s dark eyes. Their expres- 
sion was so melaucholy and anxious that it pro- 
duced a feeling of discomfort her subsequent 
conversation was in no way calculated to dis- 
pel : — a detailed, yet confused, account of ill- 
nesses and suffering, — remedies tried and pro- 
posed, — intense longings for health, — her dis- 
appointments and renewed hopes, — all poured 
forth with a slowness of utterance, and languor 
of attitude, that contrasted too strongly with 
Cyrilla’s own manner to make it possible she 
could find herself in any way attracted towards 
her; yet Zorndorff totally misunderstood her 
motives as he watched her efforts to leave his 
wife without appearing ungracious. She felt 
none of the jealousy, pain, or anger he supposed, 
as she turned to listen to Julie de Lindesmar’s 
more voluble and amusing remarks ; nor when, 
in the course of the evening, she ceased to avoid 
his immediate vicinity, was tht*re the slightest 
return of her former regard or admiration for 
him. To the exclusion of all others, one sole 
idea had taken possession of her mind — it was 
the thought that she should regain her freedom 
without endangering her sister’s domestic peace, 
without exposure of her own weak reliance on 
a man who had abandoned her, without loss of 
character to him or disgrace to his family. He 
had said that he could repair his injustice t« 
her without the publicity they had all so much 
dreaded- ind he, of course, un lerstood pe»- 


CYRILLA. 


sectly how such affairs could be managed! An 
undefined feeling of satisfaction stole over her; 
visions of future happiness passed quickly 
through her mind ; and at last hope, such as 
she had not experienced since the day they had 
parted at Spa, successfully overcame all her 
lurking doubts and fears, — but at the same 
time, unfortunately, so enhanced her charms of 
person and manner, made her appear to him so 
tike her former self, that his remorse and medi- 
tated reparation were alike forgotten, or rather 
the passion that had apparently slumbered 
was roused again in all its strength and violence, 
so that Cyrilla, while rejoicing in the prospect 
of release from her fetters, was but rivetting 
them more firmly than ever ! 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

As Rupert had predicted, Cyrilla could not 
avoid seeing and hearing of the Zorndorffs 
every day. Their house \vas the resort alike 
of all who were gay, fashionable, and talented, 
not only in the town, but its neighbourhood, 
to a considerable distance ; and though Zorn- 
dorff did not apparently give himself much 
trouble to amuse his guests, it was universally 
acknowledged that the arrangements were 
perfect, and the absence of all restraint or 
d ulness remarkable. Even his wife’s occa- 
sional nervous attacks, which obliged her to re- 
tire to her own room at an early hour, caused 
no perceptible change; Melanie took her place, 
•and her disappearance often remained long 
unobserved. 

That Cyrilla should be unwilling to enter 
Zorndorff’s house was natural; and for some 
time she contrived, under various pretexts, to 
escape doing so; but a few grave words from 
the President — a few light laughs on the part 
of the Bellegardes, made her imagine it ne- 
cessary to overcome her aversion, and induced 
her to accept the next invitation that she re- 
ceived. Zorndorff, who had imperceptibly 
managed to avoid speaking to her elsewhere, 
was then forced to make an exertion. No- 
thing could, apparently, be more easy and 
unembarrassed than his manner — nothing 
more calm than hers. To Melanie, the im- 
perturbable composure of both appeared ad- 
mirable ; and as a proof of the power of edu- 
cation to give self-control, and the force of 
civilisation to restrain the manifestations of 
the passions, perhaps it was so. 

Cyrilla passed on. Melanie remained near 
him until he was disengaged — then drew him 
towards a pyramid of flowers, and while 
pretending to admire their arrangement, 
whispered, “ You see, Edouard, the effort 
Cyrilla has made to keep up appearances.” 

“She has kept up her appearance in the 
most astonishing manner,” he answered, ironi- 
cally. “ I was prepared, from your account, 
to see her wasted by fever — bent with care ; 
»nd I find her more brilliant — more beautiful 
than ever 1 ” 

“ Oh, had you but seen her sufferings in 
Salzburg ” 

“I prefer seeing her as she is — it relieves 


my mind from a load of anxiety — tell her so 
from me.” 

There was something in his manner that 
displeased Melanie ; and she observed, with 
some pique, “ I do believe you cannot under- 
stand the heroism with which she bears her 
wrongs! ” 

“It rather too strongly resembles levity,” 
said Zorndorff. 

“ Levity ! 0, how ungenerously men ever 

judge us! Can you not believe that she 
trusts in the half promise you made me 
before her arrival — trusts you implicitly, 
after all your treachery ? May I assure her 
that, this time, she will not be deceived by 
you ? ” 

“ If you are determined to mediate between 
us,” said Zorndorff, " tell her .... my love ia 
unchanged .... is stronger than ever.” 

“And you only pretended penitence in 
order to bring her here ? ” cried Melanie, in- 
dignantly. “You ‘will force me to brave 
Wilhelm’s anger, and compel me to tell him 
everything that has occurred.” 

“I shall not endeavour to dissuade you 
from doing so,” said Zorndorff, calmly. 

“Believe me, Edouard, nothing now deters 
me but the dread of the disgrace it would 
bring upon us all, and the total ruin to you” 

“Strong enough motives for silence . . . .” 
began Zorndorff; but, at that moment, Ma- 
dame de Bellegarde came towards them, and 
asked, with her habitual smile, what they 
were discussing so gravely. 

“ We were talking of disgrace and ruin,” 
answered Zorndorff. 

“Surety,” said Madame de Bellegarde, low- 
ering her voice, and looking quickly round 
her, “ surety you do not believe all the wicked 
stories propagated here since it lias been 
known that Yirginie returns to us? I do 
assure you she was in no way — even the most 
remote — the cause of de Rubigny’s death.” 

“Of course not,” said Melanie, with some 
suprise. “I always understood that some 
quarrel at a gaming-table . . . .” 

“ Precisely,” said Madame de Bellegarde ; 
“but the people here will not be satisfied 
with a simple statement of facts, that they 
might have read in the newspapers more than 
a year ago. It was not Virginia fault that 
de Rubigny could not resist the temptations 
of the gaming table, or that he was quarrel- 
some when lie lost at it. Their position made 
it necessary for her to see people at her house. 
You know yourself she is very attractive, and 
— and — as a matter of course, was paid a 
good deal of attention .... however, no one 
would ever have said a word against either 
of them, if they had been able to pay their 
debts ; but my uncle would do nothing for 
them until it was too late, and now he pro- 
poses to pay all excepting the debts incurred 
by Yirginie, and says that she must satisfy 
her creditors by instalments from her join- 
ture. Did you ever hear of anything so un- 
reasonable ? Why, three years’ income would 
not pay her milliner ! Mamma is now with 
grandpapa trying to soften his hard heart, 
and induce him to be liberal.” 

, “ I don’t think she will succeed, ' said Zora 


100 


C YRILLA. 


dorff, quietly; ‘ he would rather give the 
money to your brother Victor.” 

Madame" de Bellegarde shrugged her shoul- 
der?, and raised her e} 7 ebrows, in the manner 
that only Frenchwomen can accomplish, with- 
out making a grimace. 

Zorndorff bent towards her and whispered, 
44 Tell your sister to apply to Adlerkron — it 
will not be the first time he has helped her 
out of embarrassments of that kind.” 

“ Who told you that ? ” 

“ 0, I only referred to her juvenile indis- 
cretions at the florists and confectioners. Do 
you remember how we enjoyed his tutor’s 
face of amazement and dismay when, the 
very evening of the day he received his 
pocket-money, not a kreutzer of it was left, 
and lie altogether declined explanations ? ” 

“ Rupert was always a dear, generous crea- 
ture,” said Madame de Bellegarde, laughing ; 

“ but we were children then, you know 

that sort of tiling would *never do now ! ” 

“ Better now than then,” rejoined Zorn- 
dorff, jestingly, “ for he has no longer either 
uncle or tutor to ask impertinent questions.” 

“ How can you talk such nonsense ! ” said 
Madame de Bellegarde, walking away ; but 
Zorndorff saw that his words had made more 
impression than she chose Melanie to observe, 
and he followed her, glad of an opportunity 
to leave his aunt, who paid no sort of atten- 
tion to the few words she still might have 
heard concerning “ friendship from earliest 
childhood,” intimacy greater than often exists 
between the nearest relations. 

She stood in the deepest reverie, until Cy- 
rilla touched her arm and whispered, “ What 
did he say ? When can he speak to me ? Will 
he give me the papers? ” 

“I had not time to ask him — we were in- 
terrupted.” 

“ One would really think he employed peo- 
ple for the purpose,” said Cyrilla, impatient- 
ly. “ Can we not insist on his seeing us some 
day alone ? This state of suspense is becom- 
ing perfectly intolerable io me.” 

A servant at this moment approached them 
to say that the Countess Zorndorff had be- 
come suddenly ill, requested her aunt to take 
her place, and hoped that Mademoiselle d’Ad- 
lerkron would have the kindness to visit her 
in her room as soon as she was disengaged. 

“ What ought I to do, Melanie ? ” 

“ Go to her by all means, it would be cruel 
to refuse Poor thing, she is totally un- 

conscious of the injury she has done you, and 
is even more to be pitied than you are.” 

In an apartment dimly lighted by a shaded 
lamp, Cyrilla found the Countess Zorndorff 
reclining on a sofa, and supported by cush- 
ions covered with crimson velvet. The rich 
colouring of the furniture around her seemed 
to increase the ghastliness of her appearance, 
and render more appalling the convulsions 
that still continued occasionally to distort her 
features, but of which she seemed quite un- 
conscious. As soon as she perceived Cyrilla, 
she reqvested her to come close to her, and 
began tc regret being ill the first evening she 
had been induced to spend with her. 

Cyrilla begged she would not speak or 


think of it, and hoped she had not suffer ai 
much. 

“ I don’t exactly know Have I beer 

long ill, Vica ? ” she said, turning to a taL 
gaunt woman, who etood beside her. 

“ Only a few minutes quite a short 

faintness.” 

“Not so very short either,” she rejoined, 
thoughtfully, “or you would not have had time 

to change my dress, and O my head 

I feel ns if my brain ..... 

were turned to stone. — Will you put youi 
hand upon my forehead,” she added, looking 
towards Cyrilla ; “it will do you no harm, 
and may do me much good.” 

Cyrilla did as she was requested, and a* 
the Countess took the other disengaged hand 
in both hers, a remarkable tranquillity over- 
spread her features, and she leaned back 
murmuring, as if in explanation, “ my exist 
ence almost depends on the emanations from 

the nerves of others emanations _ 

which to them are no loss 

but to me great gain.” 

With the selfishness so common in cases of 
nervous debility, she then half-slumbered, 
thoughtless of the wearying position which 
she had imposed on Cyrilla, whose slightest 
effort to move, or release her hand, instantly 
produced moans so expressive of uneasiness, 
that even the thought was at last abandoned. 
As she stood there, the cold night air from 
an open window raising the light folds of her 
ball-dress, and waving her long bright ring 
lets from her face and shoulders, Zorndorff 
rushed into the room : “ Why did you not 
•send for me or Dr. Hurrig? ” he said in a low 
eager voice to the person called Vica, and 
then, without waiting for an answer, ad- 
vanced towards Cyrilla, an€ while he hastily 
whispered some words of excuse, she felt his 
hands gliding along her arms, and then rest- 
ing over hers, as if to detain her. Uncon- 
scious of his motives, she drew back suddenly, 
and his wife started up, exclaiming, “ Don’t 
leave me — pray, don’t leave me,” stretched 
out her arms towards her, and grasped her 
hands so tightly, that it appeared impossible 
to liberate them. 

Cyrilla had not courage to struggle, and 
the Countess, after shivering violently for a 
few moments, sank back again, perfectly mo- 
tionless on her pillows. Gradually her figure 
became so death-like, that Cyrilla turned 
away her head, and then Zorndorff said quiet- 
ly, “ Why did you not let me put myself ‘ en 
rapport ’ with her! I wanted to release you.” 

“ I did not understand ” 

Again he touched her arms, then his wife’s 
forehead and hands, and immediately the 
grasp relaxed ; but when Cyrilla endeavour- 
ed to move away, with the intention of leav- 
ing the room, the Countess slowly rose, and 
it appeared almost as if she were imitating 
Cyrilla’ s stealthy motions, while she followed 
her in the unsteady manner of a person re- 
covering from faintness. The long black 
hair hanging in disordered masses over her 

white dressing-gown the half-closed 

eyes and ghastly hu« of her Tigid features, 
combined so exactly to form what Cyrilla,. 


CYRILLA. 


101 


imagined a personification of somnambulism, 
that curiosity overcame the awe inspired by 
her almost spectral appearance, and she stop- 
ped and awaited her approach. 

“ I will not touch you if you dislike it so 
much,” she said with a deprecative gesture, 
probably observing that Cyrilla shrank from 
her contact ; “ couid you but overcome your 

dislike to me you might be the means 

©f restoring me to health.” 

“ I have no dislike to you ” began 

Cyrilla. 

“Something nearly allied to it then 

you retire whenever I come near you 

evade my society on all occasions, and until 
this evening have refused all my entreaties 
to enter this house ! ” 

“A scene of this kind, Margaret, will 
scarcely make Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron dis- 
posed to come again,” observed Zorndorff, 
rolling a chair towards his wife as if he fear- 
ed her falling. 

“ I am sorry I happened to be ill just this 
■evening,” she said, sitting down, and catch- 
ing Cyrilla’s dress to detain her, — “ very 

sorry I have so longed to speak to you 

alone promise me that you will come 

here to-morrow without Melanie or any 

one who can be a restraint on us! ” 

Cyrilla hesitated. 

Zorndorff desired Yica to leave them, and 
send an express for Dr. Hurtig. 

“ Edouard will not allow me to go to y T ou 
as often /is I wish,” she continued; “he 

thinks I might alarm you if I were ill, or 

or infect you with my nervousness 

but I am sure he is mistaken. You are young, 

healthy, and happy your touch, your 

very presence, is a renewal of life to me, and 
seldom as we have been together, I am already 
quite convinced you wish me well, and that 
of all — yes, all the people here, you alone 
are capable of making a sacrifice to restore 
me to health ! ” 

“You are ungrateful, Margaret,” said 
Zorndorff, half turning from the open window 
out of which he had been gazing ; “ our aunt 
Melanie feels more interest about you than 
you can possibly expect — any one else to do.” 

“ I am ready to acknowledge that she has 
been kind and attentive, especially latterly ; 
but her interest has been confined to the 
mode of treatment adopted by Dr. Hurtig — 
she comes to see me mesmerized — notes all 
my sleepwaking observations — talks of them 
afterwards more than is necessary — but — but 
— she loves me not. She thinks I cumber 
the earth. I overheard her saying to Dr. 
Hurtig this very morning, when she sup- 
posed me sleeping, that it would be a bless- 
ing if I were taken from this world, for she 

feared ” here the Countess opened her 

eyes with a look of terror, “ feared that 

our child would be an epileptic object 

an idiot ! ” 

Zorndorff shaded his eyes with his hand 
and turned away. 

“The idea has never left my mind since,” 
she continued, rising, and with a violent ef- 
fort walking towards him; “never can I for- 
get it, for it has d iprived me of all hope, all 


happiness 0 Edouard, I am unutteiably 

wretched ! ” 

Cyrilla scarcely heard the last words; the 
moment the unhappy woman’s hand had been 
withdrawn from her dress she had passed in- 
to the adjoining room ; it was an ante-cham- 
ber, in which large folding doors were pan- 
elled with most confusing looking-glass, and 
draped with curtains like the windows. The 
first she opened conducted into a gorgeously 
furnished bedroom ; the second showed her a 
small winding staircase, and at the same mo- 
ment, a third opened, and admitted the phy- 
sician, followed by Yica. Not wishing at 
that moment to see Zorndorff again, and de- 
sirous of a few minutes’ time to prepare her- 
self for music and gaiety, after the painful 
scene she had witnessed, she descended the 
stairs, concluding that at their termination 
she should find herself in the servants’ apart- 
ments. Such was not the case ; they brought 
her into a lofty and spacious room, which, as 
well as the faint light from a small silver 
lamp burning on a writing-table would allow 
her to discern, seemed to be half drawing- 
room, half library. Several beautifully carved 
bookcases reached to the ceiling ; marble ta- 
bles, with vases and statuettes ; monstrous 
globes and luxurious chairs ; tables, with 
maps, new books, and engravings, were judi- 
ciously arranged in orderly disorder. The 
glass doors of an adjoining conservatory were 
open, admitting a flood of fragrance, with the 
refreshing sound of a splashing fountain ; and 
one of the three large French windows, part- 
ly open, permitted a view of a dark night and 
the starry firmament. 

That the apartment #as much used was 
evident. Besides the fireplace, with its two 
well-heated porcelain stoves in the form of 
pillars, there was the open work-table of the 
Countess — a book, handkerchief, and gloves, 
that looked as if the owner had but just left 
the room; and of her and all that had oc- 
curred within the last short hour, of Zorn- 
dorff, the possessor of the affluence he had so 
eagerly coveted, Cyrilla now began to think, 
altogether forgetful of time or'plaee. While 
still speculating on what his future conduct 
towards herself would be, and how long he 
would continue to avoid her, she heard a step 
on the stairs, and saw him enter the room by 
the door she had left open. Unconscious of 
her presence, he walked to the open window, 
folded his arms and looked upwards with a 
sigh so long and deep, that it almost resem- 
bled a groan. Much as Cyrilla had desired 
an opportunity of speaking to him, increased, 
perhaps, by the evident wish on his part to 
defer an explanation ; well as she had ima- 
gined herself prepared with speech and an- 
swer, now that the moment of trial had ar- 
rived, the words of reproach, expostulation, 
and entreaty, so carefully prepared, could 
find no utterance. Ashamed of her pusillani 
mity, and knowing how much she should re- 
gret it afterwards, she compelled herself tc 
approach him, not with the steady step and 
condemnatory mien that a woman so inno- 
cent and oppressed might have assumed, but 
with all her natural gentleness and an over 


i02 


CYRILLA. 


powering fueling of timidity. The silence in 
the room was so profound, that even the 
light rustling of her dress instantly attracted 
his attention ; he looked round, and, taken 
completely by surprise, for a moment lost all 
command of himself. It was in vain he turned 
away and endeavoured to conceal his emo- 
tion ; it was scarcely inferior to her own, as 
she faltered a few words of entreaty, that lie 
would be just and generous, and procure her 
a release from her vows, now that he could do 
so without compromising himself or Melanie. 

“ And if I cannot ” began ZorndorfF. 

“ You can, you can Melanie has told 

me what you said.” 

“ I wilf no longer endure her interference, 
Cyrilla ; she interprets my words according 
to her wishes ; extracts promises from them 
which were never intended, and though with 
the best intentions possible, continually mis- 
represents us to each other ! ” 

“0 no I hope not,” cried Cyrilla, 

eagerly ; “ for she told me you repented your 
injustice to me, and would endeavour to re- 
pair it.” 

“ She told me,” rejoined ZorndorfF, evasive- 
ly, “ that while I imagined I was saving Mar- 
garet’s life, I was sacrificing yours ; that be- 
tween fever and sorrow your youth and 
beauty were wasting away; and,” he added, 
with a forced laugh, “and I believed her, 
and would have thought no risk too great to 

save you ! Cyrilla }"ou have returned 

to Exfort just" in time to prevent me from 
making a fool of -myself — -just in time to save 
me from throwing away my last chance of 
happiness. I have no longer any fears for 
your health, nor. .*.... for your happiness 
either, as long as you continue to be the ob- 
ject of universal admiration, and the idol of 
your cousin Rupert! ” 

“ Most ungenerous,” exclaimed Cyrilla, in- 
dignantly ; “ and from you, too, who 

w r ho understand so well the necessity of keep- 
ing up appearances before the world.” 

“ I flatter myself that I too keep up ap- 
pearances ; but no one can for a moment im- 
agine me happy ! I have not even arrived 
at an affectation of indifference. It is under 
the mask of a cold stateliness foreign to my 
nature, that I am obliged to hide the vio- 
lence of my feelings, and endeavour to suppress 
the outbursts of passion, daily provoked by 
seeing you bestow looks of -confidence and 
smiles of affection on another which are mine 
by right.” 

“Reproaches from you .... after conduct 
such as yours ? ” cried Cyrilla, almost 
breathless from amazement. “This is too 
much ! ” 

ZorndorfF pretended not to hear, and con- 
tinued: “The manner in which you now re- 
ceive Adlerkron’s attentions is too remarka- 
ble to be passed over in silence or endured 
patiently, and I cannot help . . . .” 

“Excuse me, Count ZorndorfF,” said Cyril- 
la, interrupting him ; “ but you must allow 
me to remind you of your last letter to me, 
in which you acknowledge having forfeited 
all right to control my actions in future.” 

* True . . . tri e .... I have no right to be 


jealous — I mean to say, no right to com 
plain ” 

“You have none,” said Cyrilla ; “and 1 
renounce my most indisputable right to bo'nh, 
on condition that you free me from bonds 
that are a restraint even on my thoughts, 
and have become intolerable to me ! ” She 
paused for a moment, and then continued, in 
a low melancholy voice: “I have suffered 
much since we parted at Spa — more, much 
more, than you seem inclined to believe. 
Count ZorndorfF. Your letter caused me 
such agony, that my mother .... died in the 
effort to console me .... Of my own long 
illness I will not speak ; until very lately I 
have had little reason to rejoice in my 
recovery from it, so joyless, so hopeless has 
since been my life.” Perceiving that her 
words had made some impression, she added 
beseechingly : “ 0, Edouard, be merciful .... 
do not ill use the power you have over me 
.... put an end to your present criminal 
course of life, and even in this world yon 
will be rewarded. Your wife will recover 
her health, and you will be able to enjoy, 
without remorse, the wealth you so much 
desired to possess.” 

“Have you not seen enough this evening, 
Cyrilla, to convince you that it has been 
too dearly bought ? The idea of enjoyment 
without you is beyond the stretch of my 
imagination now; let me rather hope,” he 
added, in the subdued fervent manner of 
former times; “let me rather hope that 
your affection has stood the (I confess) un- 
pardonably severe test to which I ventured 
to put it.” 

“I am no Griselda,” said Cyrilla, in a 
scarcely audible voice. 

“You are angry, jealous, and wish to 
punish me. I have suffered enough already, 
if you knew r but all.” 

“ I do not vdsh you to suffer, quite the 
contrary ; but I expect you to save me 
from a continuation of my present state of 
bondage. Can you imagine any situation 
more painful for a woman than mine ? ami, 
under the circumstances, is it not unheard 
of cruelty your desiring a continuation of — 
of the tie that still binds us ?” 

“And yet — I do desire it — you are mine, 
Cyrilla — mine — and I never will resign you 
— if I can help it.” 

“Then you will drive me to extremities,” 
she cried, tears starting to her eyes at the 
disappointment of all her hopes. “You 
force me to demand the certificates, papers ; 
in short, whatever is necessary to enable 
me to procure legal redress, and save me 
from such unexampled tyranny.” 

“You shall have them — and my advice 
also, if you wish it.” 

“ Your advice ! ” 

“Yes; and assistance top. Nothing can 
now be more desirable, more gratifying to 
me, than being compelled by you to resume 
rights which wfill so fully compensate for all 
that I may lose. Consideration for Marga- 
ret can have no weight with you- -why 
should it? Assert your just claims, and be- 
lieve that, let what will ensue — you ar* 


OYHILLA. 


Nearer to mo than all this world can offer ; 
and I am ready to brave disgrace, imprison- 
ment, death itself, rather than resign you.” 

“Send Melanie to me,” saidCyrilla faintly, 
as she turned away from him; “I wish to 
go home.” 

Zorndorff instantly left the room. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

“A most unfortunate affair altogether,” said 
Melanie the next day, after she and Cyrilla had 
talked over the events of the preceding even- 
ing; “most unfortunate, and threatening, as 
you say, prolonged anxiety and unhappiness to 
us both ; but you must allow that, like every- 
thing in which Edouard is concerned, it has its 
interesting side too — there is something inex- 
pressibly romantic in your present position.” 

“ Oh, Melanie, spare me all such remarks in 
future ; I have none of the qualities necessary 
for a heroine, and completely oversee the ro- 
mance, while feeling so keenly the wretched- 
ness of my situation.” 

“ But surely, Cyrilla, it must have been gra- 
tifying to you to find Edouard’s love unchanged, 
to hear him say that he would resign everything, 
would dare anything for you ! ” 

“ On the contrary, Melanie, I felt as if guilty 
of an impropriety when listening to him .” 

“ Impropriety ! ” 

“ Such it appeared to me, when I remembered 
that he was the openly acknowledged husband 
of another woman ; and how could I forget it, 
after all I had seen and heard but one short 
half-hour before ? ” 

“ But you seem quite to forget that he is your 
husband and not hers.” 

“ I wish I could — or rather, I wish it were 
not so. The more I think on this distressing 
subject, and it is now never out of my thoughts, 
the more convinced I am that there is but one 
person who could put an end to our difficulties.” 

“ You mean Wilhelm ? ” 

“ Yes ; I feel certain tiie President would at 
once tell us how we should act. Regard for 
Edouard — for his own family, would ensure 
his secrecy, and if a divorce be obtainable 
without publicity, he could manage it.” 

“ I w T ill no longer endeavour to dissuade you,” 
said Melanie, with a sigh of resignation ; “ my 
confidence in Edouard was the means of bring- 
ing you into this strait, your confidence in Wil- 
helm will place me in a still greater: but I 
shall consider it a sort of retribution ; and as I 
cannot summon courage to await the explosion 
of his wrath, you must at least defer your com- 
munication until I have made arrangements for 
retiring to some quiet place, where together 
we can hide our sorrows from the world, and 
hope for the chauges that time may bring us.” 

“ No, Melanie, no — if you are convinced that 
the President would be so very unreasonably 
angry with you, I must endeavour never even 
to think of consulting him again.” 

“ Heaven knows I meant well,” said Melanie, 
earnestly. “ I thought I was securing you a life 
of happiness that falls to the lot of few — and 
even now, disappointed and deceived as we 


103 

have been by Edouard, I cannot help admiring 
and thinking him superior to all other men. 
He seems born to command, fitted in every 
way to adorn a high station ; and then his con- 
duct to his wife is absolutely sublime ! ” 

“ To which of them ? ” asked Cyrilla, bitterly, 
while large tears gathered in her eyes. 

Melanie, somewhat staggered in her romantic 
speech by this question, paused before she an- 
swered, “ I meant that wretched, unhealthy 
woman, whose death would be a blessing to 
herself and all connected with her.” 

“ God alone knows whether or not her death 
be desirable,” said Cyrilla; “for my part, 1> 
wish her health, long life, and every happiness 
this world can bestow.” 

“ How angelic ! ” exclaimed Melanie. 

“0 no, no,” cried Cyrilla, hastily, “you must 
not misunderstand me ; my wish is selfish, for 
her happiness is henceforward inseparable 
from mine. Can you not perceive that though 
no sense of crime, no commiseration for me, 
no entreaties or threats, have hitherto been 
able to induce Edouard to release me, her 
restoration to health must at last convince him 
of the necessity of doing so ? I believe, dear 
Melanie, I ought to tell you that — in that case 
— I — I — have promised Rupert. . .” she stopped, 
embarrassed. 

“ What ? ” said Melanie, looking suddenly 
towards Cyrilla, whose intense blush made hei 
half-uttered sentence almost instantly intelli- 
gible to her ; “ O, I understand it all now,” she 
continued slowly, “affection no longer pleads 
for Edouard — you have ceased to care for him.’* 

“ Long, long ago ! ” answered Cyrilla. 

“ Can such things be ! ’ exclaimed Melanie, 
clasping her hands and looking upwards. “ O, 
why was not my fate yours, and yours mine, 
Cyrilla!” she added, shaking her head hali 
sorrowfully, half reproachfully. “ You have 
never loved.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Cyrilla, “ that every 
one has their own individual and peculiar idea 
of the meaning of the word love — yours is be- 
yond my comprehension.” 

“And yet I thought you understood it so 
well!” 

“ I am afraid,” said Cyrilla, blushing still 
more deeply than before, the colour darting up 
to her temples, and spreading over her neck, — 
“ I am afraid I must confess that admiration 
for Edouard’s singularly beautiful face and 
graceful figure made me give him credit for all 
the good qualities you said he possessed.” 

“ I said but the truth: better judges than I 
am have declared his intellect to be of the first 
order. He has erred — sinned, if you will — but 
oh, Cyrilla, he loves you still.” 

“ I believe he does,” she answered, with a 
look of unequivocal contempt ; “ that is, accord- 
ing to his egotistical ideas, which make him 
altogether regardless of the pain he inflicts. 
He seems to think the word love an excuse for 
every description of tyranny, and uses it to 
justify his prolonging my bondage, and marring 
all my prospects of happiness ! In threo 
months from the time I left Salzburg, Rupert 
will require a partial explanation ; in six months 
I must give him up for ever, or tell him all.” 

“A duel will be the inevitable consequence," 
said Melanie. 


104 


OYRILLA. 


“ Rupert is no duellist. He disapproves of 
the custom from religious motives.” 

“ Of that I have no doubt ; but you place too 
much reliance on his principles if you think him 
capable of refusing a challenge, when sent to 
him after an angry dispute with Edouard, who 
haa no scruples, ar-I would have no fear but 
that of losing you.” 

“ He has lost me,” cried Cyrilla, vehemently, 
“ lost me for ever 1 Were his unfortunate wite, 
on whose death he has speculated so openly, 
even now in her grave, nothing would induce 
me to live with him ! ” 

“There is something which would compel 
you, I fear.” 

“ What ? " 

“ The marriage laws.” 

“ Oh, Melanie, do not say so . . . are you sure, 
quite sure, of this ? ” 

“ I have reason to be so,” answered Melanie, 
“ for I learned it practically. A very few days 
after my marriage — in fact, the first opportunity 
that offered — I .... fled from W illielm re- 

turned to my father, threw myself at his feet, 
and eutreated of him to take me back again. 
I told him I was desenchante of marriage, 
wretched, desperate, and made the wildest 
vows never to displease him or my stepmo- 
ther again ; but it was in vain 1 wept and im- 
plored. Though tears of commiseration stood 
in his eyes, he assured me that he could not 
do as 1 desired — that no repining or repug- 
nance on my part would be of any avail — 
that I henceforward belonged to my husband, 
and must return to him if he claimed me. 
Wilhelm, informed of my place of refuge by 
a letter which I had left on my toilet, came 
for me himself, and without vouchsafing any 
expostulations, or demanding any explana- 
tions, placed my arm within his, and led me 
to the carriage. I did not for some time ob- 
serve that we had post-horses — did not know 
that we were leaving my father’s neighbour- 
hood altogether when I discovered but 

tills can scarcely interest you now ” 

“ It does deeply .... The President 

was, of course, very angry ? ” 

“ Not at all .... he tried to look grave, but 
I saw that he had a strong inclination to 
laugh. I had acted like a child, and as such 
he treated me for some time after. I only 
mention this to prove to you that if Edou- 
ard...” 

“ I understand,” said Cyrilla ; “ but I have 
the letter in which he promises not to claim 
any right to control me.” 

“Then perhaps he will not; but let me 
again advise you not to irritate him.” 

“ You are right,” said Cyrilla, musingly ; 
“ and as he is jealous of Rupert, I must avoid 
in future annoying him in that way at least. 
Besides, I threatened when it would have been 
wiser to have entreated.” 

“ That was a great mistake,” said Melanie. 
“ A woman’s force lies altogether in entreaty, 
for the laws have assigned us a so very sub- 
ordinate social position, that in most cases our 
threats resemble the ravings of angry chil- 
dren.” 

“ Circumstances have unfortunately made 
mine of but little more importance,” answered 
Cyrilla ; '* and I suppose it will now be better 


for me to wait patiently a few weeks longer, 
and then, under the plea of demanding those 
odious papers, and askiug his advice, I can once 
more see him alone, and make a final effort to 
discover a spark of humanity under the hard 
crust of pride and selfishness that I formerly 
supposed to be dignity and firmness of charac- 
ter.” 

At this moment Madame de Bellegarde and 
her sister were announced, and a scene of light' 
kisses and fugitive embraces, intermixed with 
careless inquiries about health and sleep, en- 
sued. Madame de Bellegarde whispered to 
Cyrilla : “ I suppose, dear, the Zorndorff fright- 
ened you last night, you went home so very 
early. Now, take my advice, and don’t let her 
fasten upon you in her vampire way, to inhale 
your imponderable emanations, as Melanie 
says .... no one can stand that but the mass of 
sinew and bone called Viea. I hope, Melanie, 
you will not humour your niece in this fancy 
that she has taken for Cyrilla. I perceived 
the whim the very first time they met, but had 
no idea it would last so Ions'.” 

Melanie was listening to Julie de Lindesmar’s 
accouut of the arrival of her brother, which had 
taken place while they had been at the Zorn- 
dorffs the evening before. “You will be de- 
lighted with Victor,” she continued ; “ he is so 
animated, so thoroughly French — quite new to 
us too, for you know he was ten years with 
mamma’s father at Amboise, and for the last 
five or six has been studying earner alia, I think 
he calls it. I suppose you know what that 
means — I don’t.” 

“ It is the finance department. Edouard 
studied cameralia, and is Kammer assessor.” 

“Exactly; and Victor has got a letter of 
introduction to him and to the President.” 

“ That was scarcely necessary,” observed 
Melanie, smiling. 

“ O, it is a letter of particular recommenda- 
tion to the President, as he wishes to be ap- 
pointed to some situation here, where he has 
so many relations, and will soon have so many 
friends ; and I have been so anxious to arrange 
a little pic-uie to Freilands that he may be in- 
troduced to you all at once ! The weather is so 
fine that we could arrange everything & l’An- 
glaise, and ” 

“ That is,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, 
“ she wants to dine on the grass somewhere in 
the park, and have earwigs and ants crawling 
over the table-cloth. I think it would be better 
to ask Rupert to invite us to dine with him. 
We should then have a good dinner, good wine, 
and ices, which would put Bellegarde and 
everybody into good humour, and save our 
servants a lot of trouble ! ” 

“But,” persisted Julie, “ we want to be quite 
en petit, comite , and Rupert cannot be made to 
understand that sort of thing. He will invite 
at least half a-dozen of the officers of his regi 
rnent ; and of what use are they excepting when 
people intend to dance ?” 

“ Well, perhaps we may want them exactly 
for that purpose. You know Victor intends to 
teach us a new Polish dance.” 

“Another reason, Adrienne, for wishing to 
be entre nous. I don’t mind having M. de 
Klemmhein — he quite belongs to us, anjl hap- 
pens to be a friend of Victor’s ; but Captain 


CYRILLA. 


101 


Stauffen and Major Ainlieim are my aversion. 
Now, this dance I am quite determined to keep 
fdr ourselves ; and only imagine, Cyrilla, how 
nice ! We must have little bells fastened on 
the heels of our shoes, and all the men must 
wear spurs ! The very idea of an exclusive 
dance is so exquisite, that you may imagine 
what a treasure Victor will prove to us ! ” 

“ Well, but about our pic-nic,” said Madame 
de Bellegardc, impatiently; “as Julie will not 
allow me to apply to Rupert, I think, to prevent 
confusion, it will be better for me to manage 
the whole affair ; but Melanie must invite my 
father-in-law, and half-a-dozen other elderly 
bores, to dine with the President, — they are 
better out of the way, you know.” 

“ But,” cried Julie, “what can we do with 
their wives, who, dull at all times, are doubly 
lull when obliged to speak French ? We only 
:ant their sous, and a few of their daugh- 

ters.” 

“ Stay,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, “ a 
sudden and most charming idea has just oc- 
curred to me — Let us all dine quietly at home, 
as if we were thinking of nothing at all, but 
directly after propose driving out, just at the 
time when stupid people feel drowsy, — no- 
thing pleasanter than an evening drive, ter- 
minated by a gay supper. Rupert can take 
charge of Julie and Cyrilla; with him they 
require no chaperon — Melanie must have 
places in her char-a-banc for those we choose 
to invite, and no others — 1 shall do the same. 
There will be music and moonlight, and 
whether we return before or after midnight is 
of very little importance.” 

“The plan is feasible,” said Melanie, “the 
weather beautiful, and Rupert will be en- 
chanted. He has been endeavouring to per- 
suade us to go to Freilands the last week, but 
Wilhelm expects a return of the cold weather, 
and will not yet believe in spring.” 

“ And now,” said Madame de Bellegarde, 
“ I must go to the Zorndorffs to let them 
know our change of plan.” 

“Was Margaret well enough to have con- 
sented to join you ?” 

“ She is quite well again — that is, as well 
as she ever acknowledges herself to be. 
Count Zorndorff seemed to wish her to re- 
main at home ; but as he accepted the invita- 
tion for himself, she did not hesitate a mo- 
ment, and only requested we would excuse 
her not remaining out ot doors during the 
sunset, as the last rays of light produced a 
degree of torpor and chill that she found it 
impossible to overcome.” 

“ Poor thing !” said Melanie. “ I wish I 
could ascertain exactly how much is real, how 
much the effect of imagination, in all this. 
Yesterday morning, after she had been mes- 
'merized as usual, and when I supposed her in 
a state of sleepwaking. I made a remark to 
Dr. Ilurtig which Cyrilla tells me she * over- 
heard; now, as I was not‘en rapport’ with 
her, she ought not to have heard me at all ; so 
it is evident that more ‘passes’ are necessary 
than he generally uses.” 

“ 0, Melanie, could you not persuade her to 
allow herself to be mesmerized at Freilands 
this e^ning ? " 

“ Perhaps I could, but Edouard would not 


consent, — he says he will not have her t>r- 
mented.” 

“ But I thought somnambulists quite enjoy- 
ed being pinched and pulled, and having peo- 
ple standing on their legs, and twisting their 
arms ! ” 

“ It is supposed they do not suffer from any 
of the experiments tried on them, as they al- 
ways feel quite refreshed on waking ; but 
with Margaret, you see — mesmerism — is a 
sort of last remedy — the only chance left of 
curing her of a disease which dates its com- 
mencement from earliest infancy.” 

“ Good gracious ! I thought her complaint 
was merely what is called ‘ nerves,’ though I 
have often suspected there was something tho 
matter with her brain too, she is occasionally 
so very queer, and says such odd things.” 

“ I am sure I should not be surprised if it 
were so,” said Melanie with a sigh ; “ a con- 
stant repetition of attacks, such as she is sub- 
ject to, must in the end have a fatal influence 
on the mind, and — ” here she stopped sudden- 
ly ; Zorndorff was standing at the door of his 
uncle’s study, and looking at her reproachfully. 
It was the first time he had appeared there 
since his marriage, and his former habit of 
using the communication between the rooms 
had been forgotten. Cyrilla looked up for a 
moment, and then continued to work with as 
unconcerned an air as she could assume ; and 
while she pondered on the different motives 
wliich might have induced him to change his 
plan of avoidance, and enter a room where it 
was so probable he would have found her with 
Melanie alone, Julie advanced towards him 
exclaiming : “ How ofteu it happens that when 
one speaks or thinks of people they suddenly 
appear ! ” 

I thought, you were talking of Margaret,’* 
said Zorndorff. 

“ Adrienne and Melanie I daresay were, but 
I have been telling Cyrilla what an attentive 
devoted husband you are ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron would most pro- 
bably have preferred some other subject of 
conversation.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Julie, looking from one 
to the other with more meaning than was agree- 
able to either ; “ her attention seemed rather 
divided between what I was saying and what 
she overheard about mesmerism, — a subject 
new to her, but one of which I have heard so 
much during the last year, that 1 detest the 
word and all connected with it, — besides, you 
know, I am a non-believer.” 

“ Indeed ! To what extent ? ” 

“ 0, — a — you see I think those foolish move 
ments with the hands called ‘ passes ’ really too 
ridiculous ; and then the idea that people can 
walk about aud talk, and know-nothing of it 
afterwards, is so very absurd.” 

“ Some people walk and many people talk 
in their ordinary sleep, and are unconscious of 
it afterwards,” said Zorndorff, quietly. 

“ Yes; but these mesmerized people do and 
say such odd yet commonplace things, that one 
cannot help suspecting imposture, — for my 
part, I must have more proofs. At present, 
the whole thing is so completely beyond my 
comprehension, that I cannot and will not be- 
lieve in it.” 


CYRILLA. 


#06 

u So/’ said Melanie, advancing towards- them, 
'‘so, whatever is beyond your comprehension 
is unworthy of belief, or a delusion. I should 
really like to know what you and Adrienne do 
believe.” 

“ Anvthing vou please excepting somnam- 

bulism.” 

You believe in your own existence perhaps 

“ Most certainly ; I should be a fool to doubt 
it, — but then, I know myself.” 

‘‘ Indeed ! Physically and psychologically ? ” 

“ I don't quite understand either of those 
words,” said Julie laughing, “ but I can feel 
myself, and therefore I know that I am.” 

“ A most feminine argument,” observed the 
President, who had stopped at the door to 
listen ; “ Gartesius was less disposed to mate- 
rialism when he began his pliilosophy with the 
celebrated words 4 Cogito, ergo sum.' ” 

‘0, I know nothing about either Latin or 
philosophy,” cried Julie, “and the question 
Melanie asked is much too difficult for me. 
Choose something common and more easily 
understood.” 

“ And what is easily understood ? What do 
we in fact understand ? ” said Melanie tho’jght- 
fully. “ Let us take the commonest insect, a 
blade of grass, a grain of wheat. What is the 
sum of our knowledge I " 

“Take the grain of wheat and try,” said 
Julie. 

“ Be it so. You place it in the ground, and 
it grows, and becomes an ear.” 

“Yes.” 

“ A grain of wheat was found in the encase- 
ments of a mummy in Egypt, supposed to have 
been there two thousand years ; it w r as sent to 
England, sown, and it grew. Can you believe 
that?” 

“ It is surprising, but I can believe it.” 

“ Yet you do not know why it grew.” 

“ I suppose the germ was uninjured.” 

“ And what is the germ ? ” 

4 I’m sure I don’t know,” said Julie, impa- 
tiently. 

44 Nor I either,” said Melanie ; 44 but, like you, 
I believe that the grain of wheat did grow, and 
that other grains will grow. I see myself sur- 
rounded by things which I am compelled fq 
believe, without understanding why such things 
are so ; and I have therefore no difficulty in 
placing mesmeric somnambulism among the 
rest” 

44 Perhaps if you would take the trouble to 
make a convert of me,” began Julie, “if you 
would clearly explain to me what somnam- 
bulism really is ” 

“ Impossible,” said Melanie ; 44 have I not 
confessed that it is one of the Millions of things 
beyond my comprehension ; but that does not 
prevent me from believing that it may be a 
peculiar condition of man, and that there may 
be imponderous and invisible emanations from 
our bodies, that later discoveries may make 
useful to our fellow-creatures; but, at all events, 
mesmeric phenomena can never cease to in- 
terest me, as they tend to prove that we may 
enjoy the exercise of all oat faculties, yet retain 
no recollection of having done so — and the con- 
tinuity of thought once satisfactorily established, 
all doubts and difficulties concerning sleep and 
dreams are at an end 1 ” 


“ What doubts and difficulties do you mean ! 
I know nothing about them — I like sleeping, 
and I detest dreaming, and I believe most 
people think as I do.” 

“ Edouard,” said the President, walking into 
his study, 44 with respect to the revenues of the 
crown lands, Sennlieim and Streck, as I was 
observing . . . . ” 

“You will find the report on your table,” 
answered Zorndorff, to whom Madame de 
Bellegarde turned as she was about to leave 
the room, and observed : — 

44 I am going to your house now, to tell Mar- 
garet that our pic-uic dinner is to be changed 
into a supper, and so late, that ^he will have 
little to rear from the beams of the setting 
sun.” 

“Melanie,” said Zorndorff, approaching his 
aunt as the door closed on Madame de Belle- 
garde, “ you were about to betray the secret oi 
my domestic wretchedness to that thoughtless 
woman just as I entered the room. How can 
you forget that curiosity, not interest for Mar 
garet, prompts all her questions ? ” 

Melanie threw herself into a chair with a look 
of annoyance ; she had given him an oppor- 
tunity of not unreasonably upbraiding her. 
precisely at the moment she was preparing tc 
overwhelm him with well-merited reproaches 
for his tyranny to Cyrilla. She did not speak, 
and he pursued the subject no further, but 
comiug close to her, said almost in a whisper 
44 Margaret was very ill and restless last night ; 
one could almost fancy that the threatening 
danger caused her an uneasiness similar to that 
said to be produced by a drawn dagger held 
over a sleeper.” 

44 What danger ? ” 

“ Has not Cyrilla told you that she intends t« 
acknowledge our marriage ? Will not the dis- 
covery of a claim, which I shall not for a mo- 
ment think of disputing, put a sudden end to 
Margaret’s life ? ” 

44 You wilfully misunderstand Cyrilla,” cried 
Melanie, quickly ; 44 Margaret’s life is iu no 
danger whatever, if you will, in this instance at 
least, act honourably, as you said you could and 
would do.” 

44 Cyrilla was not here — I overrated my 
strength when I so spoke — the sacrifice is be- 
yond my power, Melanie — no sense of guilt can 
enable me to resign her, no feeling of honour 
stifle a love like mine.” 

“Love!” exclaimed Melanie, indignantly; 
44 do not profane the word by so using it, or 
flatter yourself that under such constraint 
Cyrilla will preserve a particle of regard for 
you. In your rough grasp love dies, and am- 
bition and selfishness stride over the mangled 
remains ! ” 

A smile of derision seemed to hover ovei 
Zorndorff’s lips as the President called out, 
44 What are you talking about there? has any 
one been murdered ? ” 

“ Only metaphorically,” answered Zorndorff! 

Cyrilla, perceiving that he was about to leave 
them, looked up anxiously; her face was very 
pale, and her lips trembled as she faltered, 44 So 
then I have nothing more to hope from you.” 

“ Everything,” he replied, 44 if you will speak to 
me yourself in future, and cease these messages, 
which only lead to disagreeable misunderstand 


C Y R I t jLA. 


107 


mgs. It is well known that interference be- 
tween — people connected as we are, is always 
a thankless office. Forgive me, Melanie, but 
henceforth Cyrilla must confer with me alone, 
and — less angrily I hope.” 

“ Fldouard,” cried the President, a little im- 
patiently, “ if you will come here for a moment, 
I think we may put the Sennheim and Streck 
papers aside until the middle of August.” 

Zorndorff, probably rejoicing in the inter- 
ruption, immediately joined his uncle, and 
was soon altogether immersed in business. 

After a pause of some minutes, Cyrilla ap- 
proached ter sister and whispered, “Melanie, 
do you think he could if he would? ” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“And among your extensive acquaintance 
is there no one to whom you could apply for 
advice ? ” 

Melanie shook her head. 

“ Not one you could trust with our secret ? ” 

“ N ot one. I am afraid, dearest, that you 
must let the matter rest for the present, and 
resign yourself to what is inevitable.” 

“That is hard, very hard — now,” mumured 
Cyrilla. 

“The trial is severe,” said Melanie, “but 
it is of no vulgar or eommon-place descrip- 
tion. Situated as you are, I could have felt 
a sort of excitement in anxieties so calculated 
to engross the imagination, and render even 
the common occurrences of life dramatically 
interesting ! But then how differently I 
should have acted,” she continued, with great 
self-complacence; “no thought of marriage 
with another would ever have entered my 
mind — conscious of my power over Edouard, I 
should have overwhelmed him with my mag- 
nanimity’ ; no reproach should have passed 
my lips; great in my strength of mind, I 
should have sought and consoled his frail 
suffering wife, should have talked and rea- 
soned with him as I had ever done ; with all 
the calm dignity of friendship, I should have 
shown him that the woman whose confidence 
he had betrayed was worthy of a better fate 1 
Seldom, and in but fleeting moments, should 
he have been allow r ed to see the grief that 
was gnawing at my heart — like the Spartan 
boy, I should have hugged . . . .” 

“Dear Melanie,” cried Cyrilla, half laugh- 
ing though her eyes were full of tears, “it 
is quite evident that y’our magnanimity ex- 
ceeds mine, but I scarcely expected to hear 
you speak in this way again, after seeing y’ou 
bo evidently angry 7 with him as you were but 
a short time ago.” 

“Your anxious face and his haughty com- 
posure irritated me, I believe, but it was for 
the last time ; he has unreservedly declined 
my interference, and my office of mediatrix 
is now at an end.” 

“Then,” said Cyrilla, “I have no friend 
left but Rupert, and fears for his safety must 
ever prevent mv asking his assistance. No- 
thing remains for me to do but, when once 
assured of the fallacy of my last hope, to give 
him up for ever, and endeavour, as you say, j 
to resign myself to what is inevitable.” 

“And,” said Melanie, “in the meantime i 
try as much as possible to Veep up your i 
spirits and be like yourself. Adrienne and j 


Julie have observed that you are not so gay a* 
you used to be, and asked if you had not 
been greatly disappointed at Edouaid’s mar- 
riage. "You must make an exertion to pre- 
vent them from pitying you. I wish Rupert 
would call here, that we might tell him to 
come for you and Julie this evening. I’m 
sure I do not know where he is to be found 
just now.” 

“At Freilands, most probably,” suggested 
Cyrilla; “he said something about expecting 
people to dine with him there.” 

“Why did you not say so when Adrienne 
was here ? That alone would have been suf- 
ficient to make her postpone her supper.” 

“Quite unnecessary,” said Cyrilla. “You 
have only to let Rupert know we want him, 
and he will manage to break up his party 
early enough to come here ; if not, he can 
send for us, which will do just as well.” 

“I don’t like to ask Wilhelm for his 
horses,” said Melanie, walking towards her 
writing table ; “he would require a long ex- 
planation ; and as to proposing his joining 
us, that is out of the question, as Adrienne 
says he is such a restraint ^pon me that she 
will not have him. It is a great mistake men 
making themselves feared by their own fami- 
ly ; what they gain in respect they lose in 
affection ! I shall be obliged to tell him that 
we intend to drive out and spend the evening 
with the Bellegardes.” 

“Do you not think,” Baid Cyrilla, “that by 
one great effort of courage you could shake 
off your fear, and be perfectly candid with 
the President in future? In your place I 
should at least make the trial. Why not say 
that you are going to Freilajids with Adri- 
enne? Is it worth prevaricating for such a 
trifle?” 

“Perhaps not; but it is also not worth 
quarrelling about.” 

“You fear he would object? ” 

“Not exactly — but he would say’ some- 
thing — a — I don’t exactly know what — some- 
thing calculated to lessen or destroy our 
pleasure.” 

“ I think you are mistaken ; and as no bet- 
ter opportunity is likely to occur to make the 
trial I have so often urged, suppose you tell 
him our plans after dinner to-day ; it will be 
better than that some chance reference should 
betray all a few days hence, ns has so often hap- 
pened, giving him real cause for anger in the 
discovery’ of having been deceived.” 

“ You do not understand him, Cyrilla. J 
never consulted him about anything, never 
asked his opinion, without encountering op- 
position or sneers. On the contrary, when 1 
have occasionally’ done things that might have 
provoked such a man, he seemed to think it a 
waste of words to talk over what was past 
and could not be changed.” 

“We shall never think alike on these sub- 
jects,” rejoined Cyrilla. “I consider perfect 
confidence necessary to happiness ; and my 
mother always said ” 

“I am sorry’,” said Melanie, with some bit- 
terness, “ very sorry 7 to be obliged so often to 
enlighten you about your mother, Cy'rilla. 
She certainly bestowed her confidence, oi 
rather issued her commands, w thout reserve 


2.08 


CYRILLA. 


My father was more in my position, with this | 
difference, that a ‘ fait accompli ’ did not ex- 
empt him from reprimands ” 

“Which,” interposed Cyrilla, “ his thought- 
lessness not uufrequently deserved.” 

“Perhaps so. That he was ear'd ess in pe- 
cuniary matters is true; but his generosity 
was so unbounded that one could only re- 
gret his not having illimitable command of 
money. Never did my mother wish for 
anything that lie did not procure it — for 
those he loved nothing could be too costly!” 

“ My mother’s lot was a more common 
one,” said Cyrilla, “her wishes were not ex- 
pressed, because she knew they could not 
prudently be gratified.” 

“That was her rational way of showing 
her regard,” said Melanie, “ and w r as quite 
characteristic; she gained in consequence 
his esteem and respect in an extraordinary 
degree, and that w r as all she ambitioned. 
Perhaps, after all, she was right. Women 
easily satisfied are not likely to meet with 
disappointment, and are never so cruelly de- 
ceived in their expectations as I have been.” 

“Then your expectations were unreason- 
able,” cried Cyrilla, warmly; “for 1 have 
lately discovered that there are few men 
who admire and like their wives more than 
the President does you.” 

“ Admire ! like I according to his ideas, 
perhaps, but not mine.” 

“ I think you are ungrateful, and misun- 
derstand him sometimes,” began Cyrilla. 

“ Ungrateful ! Ought I, perhaps, to feel 
gratitude for his unmerciful criticism of my 
poems ? his never-ceasing ridicule of my en- 
deavours to wreath my brow with laurel, 
and raise my head above the waters of 
Lethe ? ” 

“No; but his advice is worth attending 
to; for instance, when he said yesterday 
that he thought a journey through the 
south of Germany could be better described 
in prose than verse, you were unreasonably 
offended.” 

“ Because he only said so to mortify me. 
Had I intended to describe Berlin, Koenigs- 
burg, Erfurt, or Exfort, he might have been 
right ; but can any subject be more adapted 
to every description of poetry than the south, 
with its mountains and lake3, legends of 
gnomes, dwarfs and spirits, alpine horns and 
wild huntsmen ? ” 

“It was the description of your dinner to 
which he objected — the trout, turkey, fiery 
Hungarian wine, and. . . .” 

“Well,” cried Melanie, “and have no poets 
ever described a banquet? Did not Homer 
lirnself ” 

Visiters were announced, and spared Cy- 
illa the defence of Homer. Melanie went to 
receive them in another and much more 
splendid apartment. It was one of the pre- 
rogatives of her high position in Exfort to 
have one day each week on which she held a 
sort of diminutive court, receiving with equal 
dignity and condescension the wives of the 
various assessors, counsellors, and directors, 
of whom her husband was the chief, and also 
of the officers whose families wished to be on 
her visiting list, aid desired K> be invited to 


her house. Like all great people, she com- 
plained much of the toils incumbent on he? 
station ; but the individuals who had at 
tempted to relieve her of part of the burdeD 
by absenting themselves, were made to fee! 
in no slight degree, not only her displeasure, 
but that of the President also. Yet he was 
a man of gravity and wisdom, who professed 
to despise the absurdities of etiquette ; and 
Melanie not uufrequently soared in idea so 
far beyond this world, as to view the inhab- 
itants as ants, and find all their pursuits as 
apparently futile ! Such are the inconsisten- 
cies that meet the observer on. all^oeeasiona, 
and in all ranks of society. 

A few hours afterwards the President en- 
tered the drawing-room, rubbing his hands in 
the satisfied manner of a man who considers 
that those members of his body have been 
sufficiently diligent to deserve a little recrea- 
tion. “I rather enjoy the idea of a musical 
evening,” he began; “w r e shall be alone, I 
believe, and Cyrilla has promised ” 

“ The weather is so fine,” said Melanie, 
“that we intend to drive out after dinner: 
and the Bellegardes have asked us to spend 
the rest of the evening with them.” 

“That is,” said Cyrilla, “they have pro- 
posed our driving "to Freilands, where they 
intend to give a supper.” 

“Lalil there will be wild doings there this 
evening — dancing, of course.” 

“Very little,” said Melanie ; “ we intend to 
walk through the grounds and gardens, to 
ascertain how far the spring is advanced.” 

“And the flirtations also,” said the Presi- 
dent, dryly; “how many score of officers do 
you expect ? ” 

“ I am not aware of any being invited, ex- 
cepting Rupert.” 

“Klemmhein will be there quite as cer- 
tainly as Rupert, I can tell you. You know 
as well as I do that lie must be in attendance j 
* to walk through the grounds and gardens’ 
with Madame de Bellegarde. Why, if she by 
any chance should happen to forget him, her 
husband, with that admirable gallantry pe- 
culiar to his nation, would himself invite 
him ! ” 

“ I did not tftink you would condescend to 
repeat such gossip.”- 

“/s it gossip? I flattered myself you would 
imagine me capable of making the remark 
from personal observation. It is quite as evi- 
dent as that Julie intends to marry Edouard 
if his wife should die, as all the Lindesmaiu 
predict she will do a few months hence.” 

“Julie and Edouard! ” exclaimed Melanie ; 
“that would be too ridiculous. On that sub- 
ject I can assure. you that you are mistaken; 
he would never think of her.” 

“ I did not say he would ; I said she thought 
of him, as she does of any and every one who 
is eligible.” 

“You must have a very bad opinion o! 
her,” said Cyrilla, “ if you suppose her capa- 
ble of endeavouring to attract the attention 
or gain the affections of a married man." 

“A very exalted opinion of her I certainly 
have not, or of any of her family, or indeed 
of any of those French people who followed 
Jerome Buonaparte into our country, anc 


C YRILL A 


have remained here to engraft their licentious 
liveliness on our society, and imperceptibly 
corrupt all around them by their example.” 

“I always imagined you liked the Belle- 
gardes,” said Melanie. “You have never 
made the slightest objection to their being 
invited to our house.” 

“Nor shall I now; they are a necessary 
evil here — unavoidable, amusing, worthless 
people, who flutter through life without a 
thought beyond it.” 

“They are not worse than other people in 
their rank of life,” interposed Melanie, with 
some irritability. 

“ I think they are,” said the President ; 
“because they are almost totally uneducated, 
and want of education k more dangerous in 
their rank than in any other.” 

“Dangerous?” repeated Melanie, inquir- 
ingly. 

“Yes; for the female portion of the higher 
classes of society are, from want of employ- 
ment, more led into temptation of levity of 
conduct than the middle and' lower classes; 
their principal pursuit, pleasure or amuse- 
ment., naturally induces them to seek the 
company of those similarly situated. No 
steadying duties of everyday recurrence bind 
them to their families ; tutors, governesses, 
housekeepers, and servants, supply their 
places. Generally endowed with sensitive 
feelings, quick perceptions, and not unfre- 
quently a considerable portion of intellect, 
occupation of some kind or other becomes 
absolutely necessary. What use the Belle- 
srardes and Lindesmars make of their best 
feelings and fair proportion of intelligence, I 
leave you to judge.” 

“ I will not condemn them,” said Melanie, 
smiling; “for in doing so, I should condemn 
myself — our mode of life is similar.” 

“Not quite,” said the President; “though 
you devote more time than is necessary to 
sleep and your toilet, you find some hours 
every day for the improvement of your mind, 
and make an occasional effort to be of use to 
your fellow-creatures, when it does not cost 
what you consider too much time and trou- 
ble; besides, our house has not yet become 
the place of rendezvous for Jhe idle and 
worthless, and I shall take care that the 
Bellegardes do not make it such. I have 
therefore no objection to see them here, no 
objection that you should go to them, ex- 
cepting when they are what they call en petit 
comite , which means, in free translation, ‘at 
little devilry.’ I ought not to have been told 
anything about this supper, to which I am of 
course not invited, as I should be considered 
a restraint and a bore ; but I could tell you 
exactly who will be there, and what they 
will do and say.” 

“Perhaps, Melanie,” said Cyrilla, “it would 
oe better if we sent an excuse ; we can go to 
Freilands whenever we like, you know.” 

“ It will be very rude, after having agreed 
to all Adrienne’s arrangements.” 

“I hope you will go,” said the President, 
taking up a newspaper ; “ in fact I wish it, 
as I do not choose to be called a spoilsport or 
'tyrant, though I dare say in that worshipful 


1C* 

society I have already obtained both denrml- 
nations.” 

Melanie walked towards Cyrilla, and pre- 
tended to play with her ringlets, as she bent 
over her, and whispered : “ I hope you are 
satisfied now, and that you enjoy the idea of 
the supper, without reserve ?” 

“ Not at all ; I should greatly prefer staying 
at home.” 

“ If you do, he will be dissatisfied also. 
You wiil go, but with a greatly diminished 
sense of enjoyment. What have you gained f * 

“The consciousness of having avoided an 
unnecessary concealment,” answered Cyrilla* 
calmly. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

On assembling at the Bellegardes, Rupert, 
alone was missing, and, after waiting more 
than half an hour, Mr. de Bellegarde, who on, 
all such occasions was chief director and ar- 
ranger, proposed setting off without further 
delay. 

“ But,” whispered his wife, “ we have no 
places for Cyrilla and Julie.” 

“O, Victor will be but too happy to take 
Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron in my father’s- 
droschka.” 

“No, thank you,'* said Cyrilla, laughing; 
“although I have every intention of becom- 
ing, in the course of time, very well acquaint- 
ed with Count Lindesmar, 1 think for the 
present it would be better if Julie was to go 
with him, and I remained until Rupert thinks 
proper to make his appearance.” 

Count Lindesmar, a black-haired, black- 
eyed, very sallow and very animated-looking 
oung man, who had been speaking to Zorn- 
orff, turned suddenly round, and, joining in 
Cyrilla’s laugh, exhibited two rows of the 
whitest teeth imaginable: “ Eh bien, ma 
chere Julie faute de mieux ” 

“And you,” said the Countess ZorndorfF 
to Cyrilla most beseechingly, — “You will go 
with us r* 

“To be sure she will,” said Madame de 
Bellegarde, quickty. “ I wonder we did tiot 
think of all this an hour ago.” 

Cyrilla would willingly have declined, 
but she could find no plausible excuse : so in 
the course of a few minutes she found herself 
sitting opposite ZorndorfF, and beside his wife ; 
while odd speculation as to what his thoughts 
might be so occupied her mind, that she re- 
mained perfectly silent for a considerable 
time. He was no less 60 ; but the Countess 
informed her that though unable to sleep al- 
most all night, she had been mesmerized in 
the afternoon, and now felt quite equal to the 
expected fatigues of the evening The wish 
to see Cyrilla had been her principal induce- 
ment to brave them, “ Because,” she added 
with a smile, ‘I hope to make you forget 
yesterday night, and to persuade you to 
come to me sometimes. I have quite resolv- 
ed not to yield to any feeling of nervo asnesa 
this evening.” 

“A steady resolution of that kind would 
be of more use to you than any mesmerize!*,* 


CYRILLA. 


ilC 

said Cyrilla. “The mind has incalculable in- 
fluence on the nerves.’ 

“So I have been told; but, unfortunately, 

I am not at all strong-minded you are I 

suppose.” 

Cyrilla shook her head. 

“But at least you are not nervous?” 

“N-o; I believe not.” 

“Most probably your nerves have never 
been tried like mine. You have led a happy 
life, free from domestic misfortunes. . Now, I 
lost my mother when still quite a child ” 

“And I my father,” said Cyrilla. 

“But my father died in so sudden and un- 
expected a manner, that, though he had long 
been in a dangerous state of health, and I was in 
some degree prepared by our physician for 
die event, I suffered terribly from the shock 
—didn’t I, Edouard? You know how ill I 
was for more than a week 1 Fortunately,” she 
continued, turning to Cyrilla, — “Fortunately 
it was after my marriage, or I tliiuk I could 
not have survived his loss. The death of the 
last parent breaks up one’s home, and throws 
a woman, if still unmarried, so completely on 
the world, or, what is nearly the same thing, 
on relations who seldom care for her. At 
least that would have been my case. ” . 

“ It was mine, ” said Cyrilla, gravely. 

“ Why, I thought your mother still lived 

was she long ill ? ” asked the Countess, 

with that determination to talk of illness and 
death which seems peculiar to unhealthy 
people. 

“ Like your father, she had long been in a 
precarious state of health, but her death was 
awfully sudden.” 

“ Indeed! Were you present? ” 

“ Yes. She died while making an ef- 
fort to speak to me.” 

“0, Margaret!” exclaimed Zorndorff, re- 
proachfully, “ how can you question Made- 
moiselle d’Adlerkron in this way? n 

“ Because'tliere seems such an extraordina- 
ry similitude in our trials. Still I have had 
one,” Ihe continued, turning to Cyrilla, “ one 
more than you the terrible uncertain- 

ties and anxieties to which Edouard subjected 
me before our marriage. Of them you can 
form no idea!” and she glanced archly to- 
wards Zorndorff, who made no attempt to 
defend himself. 

“ But to return to your nerves,” said Cy- 
rilla, with a faint smile. “If you will per- 
mit me to offer you advice on so short an 
acquaintance, I should recommend a constant 
struggle against what you call nervousness, 
and, what is equally important, a resolution 
never to speak of it. Endeavour to banish it 
altogether from, your mind.” 

“Impossible; I can scarcely ever think of 
anything else.” 

“Suppose you were to find some kind of 
employment to interest you ? ” 

“ I have tried everything but 

nothing interests me I cannot bear 

the exertion of any of the employments which 
give pleasure to other people.” 

“There are some which require scarcely 
any exertion, if merely pursued for amuse- 
ment,” suggested Cyrilla. “Drawing or paint- 
ing, for instance.” 


“My health never admitted of my making 
sufficient progress in either to find them 
agreeable.” 

“Reading? ” 

“ Yes, I like reading sometimes . . . .« 

but the works I prefer Edouard thinks dan- 
gerous and exciting for me. Formerly he 
used to like to talk to me about philosophy 
and the other world, and now he wishes I 
could forget all he has ever said, and become 
a downright religious bigot. He says that 
women who have contracted ideas are infi- 
nitely happier than those who give scope to 
their imagination, and precipitate themselves 
into a chaos of thought, which they have nei- 
ther the power nor inclination to order.” 

“But may not true religion lie between 
these extremes ? May not the middle course, 
as in most cases, be the best?” asked Cyrilla. 

“ I don’t know. He says, now, that all wo- 
men ought to be Romau-eatholies — that the 
more they believe, and the less they trouble 
themselves w'ith religious speculations, the 
better.” 

Cyrilla looked inquiringly towards Zorn- 
dortf ; but he appeared to be watching for 
the reappearance of the other carriages, hid 
by a turn of the road, and she renewed her 
well-meant efforts to benefit her companion 
by observing, “1 have not yet exhausted all 
our employments — most women like needle- 
work.” 

“ I do not, excepting when I have somebody 
to talk to me.” 

“Well,” said Cyrilla, “perhaps you like 
music ?, ” 

“For music I have no talent whatever — 
rather a fortunate circumstance, as Edouard 
does not care for it, and actually dislikes the 
sound of the Jew's harp, the only instrument 
that gives me unalloyed pleasure.” 

“The — the — what did you say ? 

“The Jew’s harp, drone, iron trump, or 
whatever it may be called. Mesmer used it 
frequently for the propagation and trausmis- 
sion of magnetic influence.” 

“I have never even heard of it,” said Cy 
rilla. “ IIow is it played ? ” 

“In the easiest way possible,” she answer- 
ed, drawing from the pocket of her dress a 
small iron machine, which Cyrilla, in her 
ignorance, might have imagined a boot-hook, 
portable screw, or anything but a musical in- 
strument, and placing it between her teeth, 
began to thrum upon it with extraordinary 
diligence. 

Cyrilla’s look of surprise changed into one 
of painful uncertainty, as the harsh monoto- 
nous sound grated on her well-exercised mu- 
sical ear; and when the flashing eyes fixed 
on hers, in glaring interrogation, convinced 
her that no jest was intended, she uncon- 
sciously drew back into the corner of the 
carriage, her liprf apart, and distrust legible 
in every feature. 

“ Margaret, I request I entreat ” 

began Zorndorff. 

But Margaret did not choose to hear, and 
continued her performance, exhibiting a de- 
gree of skill which might have attracted 
Cyrilla’s attention had her mind been leas 

occupied. 


CYRILLA. 


Ill 


w Margaret, I insist,” cried ZorndorfF, 

at last catching her hand, so as to cause an 
immediate cessation of the vibrating sounds. 

“How can you before Mademoiselle d’ 

Adlerkron and ” lie looked towards the 

servants, half expecting to detect the covert 
expression of a sense of the ludicrous, which 
even the best bred footmen cannot always 
subdue, instead of which he observed that 
the coachman wa9 beginning to draw up the 
carriage on the grass beside the road, while 
both he and his companion eagerly watched 
some object at the end of the long line of road 
before them. 

“ What is it ? ” cried ZorndorfF, starting 

u r- 

The coachman pointed with his whip to a 
carriage which neared them with frightful 
rapidity, and at the same moment the wild 
stamping of horses at full speed became au- 
dible. 

“Who can be driving in that mad way?” 
cried ZorndorfF. 

“No one that can help it,” replied the 
coachman; “but I suspect Baron Adlerkron 
has been trying the young bays he bought a 
few days ago, and they have gone off with 
him.” 

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Cynlla, “can 

no one do anything to save him ? He will 

be killed ! he will be killed ! Oh, let me 

out,” she added eagerly, endeavouring to pass 
ZorndorfF. 

He held her back, but sprang himself to 
the ground. For about a minuteT— which ap- 
peared an eternity — they watched the coming 
danger, as the horses became visible. The 
light carriage to which they were .attached 
seemed to bound along the road, jerking from 
side to side, in a manner threatening instant 
destruction. When within about a hundred 
yards of him, ZorndorfF suddenly rushed into 
the middle of the road, waving his hat and 
arms above his head in a manner likely to 
attract the horses’ attention. They still, how- 
ever, advanced, snorting furiously, and there 
seemed but the alternative of sudden and vio- 
lent death to him or to Rupert, who, though 
still holding the reins, had long lost all com- 
mand over the exasperated animals. On Zorn- 
dorfF ’s continuing courageously to oppose their 

i >assage, they reeled from side to side, per- 
iap3 endeavouring to pass him — urged by 
the force of that generous instinct which, it is 
said, prevents a horse from willingly tramp- 
ing on a human being. The moment they 
wavered and ceased to pull together, he 
sprang forward and seized their heads, his 
footman came to his assistance, Rupert drew 
up the reins, the other carriages drove up, 
servants hurried forward, and a scene of 
joyous confusion followed. 

“ ZorndorfF,” cried Rupert, extending his 
hand, “you have in all probability saved not 
only my life, but several others also. As 
long as I had the road clear, my fears were 
lost in excitement; but no sooner did I ob- 
serve the advancing line of carriages, than a 
feeling of horror at the impending concussion 
-nd crash,, which appeared inevitable, com- 
pletely overpowered me.” 

“But,” said Melanie, “tell us how it hap- 


pened. Is there anything on the road likely 
to frighten horses ? ” 

“Nothing whatever,” replied Rupert; “it 
was all my own fault. I only received your 
note half-an-hour ago, and, wishing to get 
into Exfort as quickly as possible, ordered a 
pair of horses that had not been out for some 
days; delayed a few minutes giving direc- 
tions about a tent on the lawn, which I 
thought Adrienne would like ; I endeavoured 

to regain the lost time by Hallo ! ” he 

cried, springing forward on seeing ZorndorfF’s 
carriage turned round, and beginning to wind 

its way through the others, “I say 

ZorndorfF you are not going to desert 

us, are you ? — why I have not had time to 
thank you or say how much I admire your 
presence of mind.” 

“ Let us suppose it said,” answered Zorn- 
dorfF, bending slightly forward. “ Margaret 
is ill, and I must return home with her.” 

“Come on to Freilands, it is much nearer.” 

“ Can I be of any use, Edouard ? ” asked 
Melanie. 

“No, thank you none whatever,” he 

replied, drawing his wife towards him with 
one arm, while with the other he made a 
sign to the coachman to drive on. 

Rupert turned to Cyrilla, who was sitting 
under a poplar tree, silent and pale, and 
asked her if she would trust herself to his care. 

“Willingly, if you will walk with me 
through the park. I would rather not hear 
or see anything more of horses or carriages 
for an hour or two.” 

“ I can Easily imagine it, after being so 
disagreeably alarmed ; it must have been 
particularly painful to witness.” 

“Oh,” cried Julie, joining them, “it was 

quite dreadful shocking I really 

thought I should have fainted — indeed it 
would have been quite natural if we had all 
done so ; but Margaret ZorndorfF is the only 
one who can get up anything of that kincl 
among us. — However, when so many things 
have the power of making her faint or fall 
asleep, it v'ould be unpardonable had she re- 
mained uqmoved wdien that glorious creature 
was in such imminent danger ! ” 

“Which glorious creature?” asked Rupert, 
smiling. “We were tlif’ee — my T groom, my- 
self, and ZorndorfF ! ” 

“Ah, bah! who ever thought of youi 
groom ? ” 

“ I did,” answered Rupert. “ Ills life to 
him and his family is quite as valuable as 
mine or ZorndorfF’s to us and ours ; and had 
he lost it by my impatience and thoughtless- 
ness, it w r ould have been a subject of unceas- 
ing regret to me, — that is, supposing I had 
survived him.” 

“ I trust,” said Melanie, shaking her head, 
and looking upwards, “ I trust I may never 
again see two beings so dear to me in such 
peril.” 

“ Rupert begs you will say three beings, ” 
interposed Julie, laughing; “he insists on his 
groom being considered either a glorious crea- 
ture, like your nephew or a dear being, lik« 
himself.” 

“The expressions are strong,” said Melanie 
“but in point of fact, he is right. There wer 


lit 


C YRILL A. 


4 iree human beings in the same danger, and 
I confess with shame I law but two.” 

“You are better than those who saw but 
one,” said Julie. 

“ Was that your case f ” asked Rupert, care- 
lessly. 

“I I was thinking of Margaret when 

I made the remark; and she may be pardon- 
ed for thinking only of Zorndorff, as he seems 
to exist now merely for her and her whims. 
Who ever expected that he would be so pa- 
tient, so minutely attentive ? he who was so 
accustomed to receive attentions himself, I 
may say. By the by, Cyriila, did you observe 
how closely he held her, and how oddly he 
ressed her head against his shoulder, as they 
rove off? ” 

“ No ; I did not look at them.” 

“ It appeared to me,” continued Julie, * as 
if he feared any one should see her face.” 

“I think we had better go on to Frei- 
lands,” observed Melanie, abruptly ; “ it is 
getting late.” 

“ Cyriila wishes to walk through the park,” 
said Rupert; “and the way is 6omuch short- 
er than by the road, that most probably we 
•hall reach the house as soon as you.” 

“ An excellent idea,” said Julie, turning to 
her brother ; “ let us go with them,” — and 
they sauntered on together, followed by Ru- 
pert and Cyriila. 

“ I did not think there was such a gloomy 
spot in all Freilands,” observed Julie, soon 
after they entered the park; “quite awful, I 
declare — enough to make one shudder ! ” 

“You are surely not so unreasonable as to 
expect the cheerfulness of noon so late in the 
evening,” said Rupert. “At an earlier hour 
it is gay enough here, I assure you.” 

“ Oh,” said Julie, looking round her, “ do 
not for a moment imagine I think your wood 
more dreary than others. I dislike sunless 
places of this kind at all times, because they 
provoke disagreeable thoughts about grow- 
mg old, and dying, and all sorts of dismal 
things.” 

“And do such thoughts never occur to you 
elsewhere ? ” asked Cyriila. 

“ Very seldom, and I ahvays banish them 
as soon as possible. Life is sfiort, and I wish 
to enjoy it.” 

“ I believe,” said her brother, “you have 
contrived to do so more than most people.” 

“I don’t know. Rupert, what 

is your opinion ? You know more of me and 
my life than Victor does.” 

“If living in a constant round of dissipa- 
tion, and being among the leaders of fashion 
in your circle, be enjoyment,” answered Ru- 
pert, “ you have had a more than common 
share of it. Whether or not you consider it 
such, and are satisfied, it is impossible for me 
to say.” 

“No, I am not satisfied. I feel as if the last 
ten years of my life had been a continued se- 
ries of disappointments.” 

There was a good deal of mirthful meaning 
in Rupert’s glance, as he looked at her and 
•uppressed a laugh. 

“ You misunderstand me,” she continued, 
half laughing, and slightly colouring. “I did 
not mean the disappointment* of which such 


as you have been the cause. I referred tc 
the daily, hourly expectation of pleasure 
which is never fulfilled.” 

“That is, you find your pleasures, when 
attained, worthless, or at least insipid.” 

“ Perhaps so. Change ie, I believe, the 
only remedy. Even Exfort* after Berlin, was 
agreeable for some time.” 

“ Give up the pursuit of pleasure altoge- 
ther,” said Rupert, “ and become a useful 
member of society, as I intend to be a few 
months hence.” 

“ And what may be your first steps towards 
usefulness ? ” 

“I shall leave the army, and reside either 
at Windhorst or Freilands, sow and reap, feed 
oxen and swine, drain marshes and plant 
trees, establish schools and administer justice. 
I rather expect that the increased usefulness 
of my life, and consequent satisfaction, will 
give me an air of dignity and respectability, 
which I shall certainly never acquire while 
riding about with my regiment and living in 
garrison towns.” 

“ An air of portliness and vulgarity, you 
mean.” 

“ Scarcely,” said Rupert, laughing ; “ for our 
branch of the Adlerkrons have all been long- 
legged, haggard, gentlemanly-looking men.” 

“ But you will never be able to play grana 
seigneur as Count Zorndorff already manages 
to do in his little suburban villa. Well may 
Melanie say that he seems born to greatness, 
and has an innate appreciation of the refine- 
ments of luxury ! What a prince he would 
have made 1 ” 

“I should rather not belong to his house 
hold if he were one,” said Rupert. 

“Perhaps not, with Margaret for a prin- 
cess; but he might be separated from her, 
}mu know, and choose another.” 

“Tot/, for instance,” suggested Rupert. 

* Why not ? I should suit him better than 
she does, and would promise to shut up the 
private staircase to his study, that annoys 
him so much ; would refrain from examining 
his letters, or asking him impertinent ques- 
tions about certain American correspondents 
and pensioners ; would ” 

“Julie!” cried Count Lindesmar, “how 
can you talk in this wild way ? Mademoi- 
selle d’Adlerkron is quite shocked.” 

“ Not a bit. Cyriila and every one know* 
that Count Zorndorff married for wealth, and 
not in the least from inclination. His atten. 
tion to Margaret is extremely laudable, rw> 
doubt ; but it would be better for her health 
if he encouraged her fancies less, and did not 
allow her to employ three physicians at once. 
Is it not enough to kill any woman when an 
alleopath, hydropath, and homoeopath daily 
prescribe for her — and she is herself mesmer- 
ized, that, when in a state of sleepwaking, as 
she calls her siesta, she may consider or 
dream which prescription she will follow for 
the succeeding four-and-twenty hours ? In- 
dulgence of this kind, on the part of a man 
such as he is, very much resembles killing 
with kindness.” 

“ What devilish motives you give to con- 
duct we all considered the perfection of p * 
tience ! ” said Rupert 


CYRILLA. 


118 


** I &m convinced you think my guess not 
far amiss.” 

“You are making Zorndorff a consummate 
villain ! ” 

“Not so. If I were married to-morrow, I 
should have no objection to my husband's 
endeavouring to kill me by excess of indul- 
gence.” 

“And I suppose you give him equally de- 
testable motives for his personal attentions ! ” 
said Rupert. 

“You look so indignant that I shall not say 
so, even if I do,” answered Julie, laughing. 
“But the fact is, Ido not believe Count Zorn- 
dorff could be otherwise. No one ever ac- 
cused him of want of attention to our sex, 
excepting when he wished to pique them into 
paying attention to him. I could tell you 
some of his exploits ” 

“Pray, don’t,” said Cyrilla, walking on with 
Rupert, and leaving her to continue her con- 
versation with her brother, whose repeated 
bursts of laughter proved that she had found 
a listener more disposed to be amused at than 
to criticize her remarks. Separated as they 
had been for many years, her conversation 
was alike new and amusing to him; the total 
absence of all reserve on her part being na- 
turally attributed to their near relationship. 
This was, however, by no means the case. 
Julie de Lindesmar, after having danced and 
flirted away fifteen of the best years of her 
life, on finding the consciousness of age forced 
upon her by successive rising generations, 
had, in order to secure the consideration and 
attention to which she had been accustomed 
in society, fallen into the fatal error of adopt- 
ing a freedom of manner and speech which, 
while it attracted, caused her to become the 
iest of all her acquaintance, and the subject 
of various not very creditable bets. She 
gained her object, however, and always found 
men ready to dance with her, flirt with her, 
joke with her, and follow her wherever she 
went. Bv no means devoid of intellect, there 
were moments when she felt humiliated, an- 
gry with herself and all the world, and wish- 
ed to recede. As well might she endeavour 
to do so in years as in conduct. Every at- 
tempt at prudery was treated with scorn or 
derision even by the merest boy-lieutenant of 
her coterie ; and thus, with many good qual- 
ities, known only to her nearest relations, she 
continued her struggle with the world and 
its vanities, imperceptibly becoming that 
most unhappy but fortunately rare member 
of society— a disreputable old maid ! 

“ I cannot tell you, Cyrilla,” said Rupert, 
after he had walked beside her in silence for 
some minutes; “I cannot tell you how I re- 
gret what has occurred this evening between 
Zorndorff and me. To be placed under so 
great an obligation to him just now is most 
unpleasant; but there is no use in attempting 
to lessen it. He showed both courage and 
presence of mind on the occasion, and was at 
one time in greater danger than I was.” 

“I know it,” said Cyrilla, in a low voice; 
“ and I admired his steadiness as much as any 
one who witnessed it.” 

“And yet,” said Rupert, half inquiringly, 
- 1 think hia conduct afterwards to that hy- 

8 


pochondriacal, half-crazy wife »f his infinitely 
more admirable.” 

Cyrilla was silent. 

“What he did for me,” continued Rupert, 

“ I believe I could have done for him 

should at all events have attempted it; at 

least, I hope so but patience such as hia 

— attentions so unwearied towards a woman 
I had never cared for, is a refinement of feel- 
ing in which I suspect I should, in his place, 
have been found wanting.” 

Still Cyrilla remained silent, and after a 
pause, Rupert added: “The new light which 
this throws upon Zorndorff ’s character give# 
me great satisfaction. A man who can act so 
irreproachably, under such trying circum- 
stances, can hardly hesitate to release you 

from this con — founded promise even 

though ever so much against his inclinations, 
eh ? ” 

“ I am afraid you are mistaken ; but re- 
member the time stipulated for explanation 
has not yet arrived.” 

“ I know it ; but patience is not the pre- 
dominant virtue of our family ; two months 
have already passed over, and I have a 
strong suspicion that, until yesterday even 
ing, you did not speak one word to him.” 

“You are right,” said Cyrilla ; “ at first he 
avoided me, and latterly I had not courage.” 

“The impropriety of being now in any 
way bound to him ought to stimulate you.” 

“ Dear Rupert, you do not know what you 
are saying.” 

“Perhaps not; I feel in this affair very 
like a man groping about in the dark ; this 
morning, however, a light broke upon me 
from an unexpected quarter, and I have be- 
come intensely anxious to know Zornd orffs 
intentions.” 

“ Have patience, Rupert only a few 

weeks longer.” 

“Be it so; but in tlie mean time, should 
the President and Melanie come to Freilands, 
it will be difficult to avoid inviting the 

Zorndorffs occasionally have you any 

objection to seeing them here? ” 

“None whatever,” replied Cyrilla; “if 
you will but keep your promise never t* 
speak to him about me.” 

“Oh,” cried Julie, springing forward. 
“ how pleasant it is to see the blue sky and 
a little sunshine again ; this meadow is quit* 
refreshing ; and there is our dear old balco- 
ny, and and I do believe you have 

got a tent upon the lawn ! ” 

They hurried forward, and were met by 
Madame de Bellegarde, who immediately 
exclaimed, “ O Rupert, you dear creature, 
how can I sufficiently thank you for this 
charming surprise ! ” 

“ If you mean the tent, I must tell you 
that it was pitched this morning.” 

“But the candelabra and the beautiful 
flowers ” 

“ Thank me for them by all means,” said 
Rupert, laughing. 

“I have ordered supper at ten o’clock,” 
she said, looking round her ; “ so we have 
time to take a long stroll and go on the 
lake — Mr. de Klemmhein lias offered to 


me. 


114 


C Y R I L L A 


“ You will find it cold,” said Rupert 

“Oil, do just bring me a shawl out of the 
carriage, will you ? ” she said, turning to 
Klemmhein, who of course flew to obey her 
commands. 

“ And besides,” continued Rupert, “some 
of the boats are belug painted, and others 
are not yet repaired.” 

“ But*I want to see the Swiss cottage you 
have built on the island. I have heard that 
it is quite beautiful, and that a family could 
live in it; that there is a dear little kitchen, 
and a love of a dairy, and two darling live 
cows ” 

“ I intended you to see all the next time 
you were my guest,” said Rupert ; “ suppose 
we say to-morrow, if Melanie have no objec- 
tion.” 

“Melanie agreed, and Rupert continued, 
“ Who will inspect my new conservatory, and 
the road through the old forest ? ” 

“Melanie and Cyrilla immediately joined 
him ; some others followed, the conservatory 
was admired, bouquets distributed ; but as 
they began to approach the skirts of the 
wood, their companions dropped off one by 
one, and the three cousins soon found them- 
selves alone. 

-4, 

CHAPTER XXXI 

Beneath the delicate spring foliage of the 
fine old trees which had once formed part of 
9, well-known forest, Rupert and his cousins 
walked on, at first unconscious of the defec- 
tion of the rest of the party, and, when 
aware of it, rather disposed to rejoice than 
otherwise. Carefully and judiciously clear- 
ed, the ground was covered with various 
luxuriant plants, on which the sunbeams 
vainly endeavoured to find a resting-place : 
wherever the light contrived to pierce the 
interlaced boughs, it seemed but to waver 
over the surface of the dark vegetation be- 
neath, or trembled on the more lustrous 
leaves like dewdrops ever ready to fall. The 
silence was complete, for the gay singing- 
birds, like Julie and her companions, prefer- 
red the perfumed shrubberies near the house, 
the lime-trees and syringas at the lake, to 
the gloomy grandeur of the forest. Full 
many a flower had there “blushed unseen,” 

and “ wasted its sweetness ” perhaps 

hot who can tell what measure of en- 
joyment those primroses and wild anemones 
may give that fluttering moth, as it hurries 
from one to the other? Or is that busy 
gold-like beetle utterly insensible to the 
wondrous beauty and endless variety of the 
surrounding mosses, lichens, and grasses — 
the graceful elegance of the waving fern ? — 
Melanie thinks not ; she honours him by a 
comparison with man, speculates on the do- 
mestic cares and joys of the liliputian man- 
sion he is seeking under blades of grass and 
dried leaves of the previous year — benig- 
nantly she smiles, and aids him with the 

carved ivory handle of her pink parasol 

She might, in her generosity, have over- 
whelmed him wit the profusion of gifts 


which cost her nothing, had not a couple ot 
ants, toiling forward with a thin withered 
twig, attracted her attention. Great were 
their exertions, unceasing their perseverance, 
and Melanie, while contemplating the perti- 
nacity of their efforts, moralized on its simili- 
tude with that of men whose struggles in 
this world might be watched by a superior 
order of beings, with the same commiserating 
contempt that she now bestowed on the 
labours of the ants ! 

“ What beings ! ” asked Rupert ; “ the 
ghosts or the inhabitants of another planet ? ” 

Melanie did not answer ; her eyes were 
now' fixed on a bright lizard that, gliding 
from among the roots of an oak, stopped 
suddenly, and remained so immovable that 
it might have been supposed dead, had not 
the brilliant eyes proved the contrary. 

“Beautiful little animal!” apostrophized 
Melanie: “beloved of the waiters of fairy 
tales, who have invariably endowed thee 
with wdsdom and learning, not unfrequentlv 
with unlimited pov T er ! Is it fear or wonder 
that keeps thee motionless ? ” 

“ Wonder undoubtedly,” said Rupert; “ho 
is evidently transfixed w'ith astonishment at 
your address. If he could speak, and wished 
to preserve his character for wisdom, he 
w'ould tell you to walk on, and endeavor to 
reach the lake before the sun has gone 
down.” 

“He would say no such thing,” said Me- 
lanie, smiling; “he would rather tell me to 
avoid such conventional expressions as ‘the 
sun is going down,’ when I know, and every- 
body knows, the sun does not go down.” 

“Then he is a pedant, and we will leave 
him alone to his w'isdom, and get on as fast 
as we can to the lake.” 

“I am in no hurry to leave your wood,” 
said Melanie ; “ this solitude is everlasting, 
grand, sublime! Everything here compels 
me to feel the unsearchable perfections of 
the works of God, and the mysterious rela- 
tionship which exists between us and the 
whole creation.” 

“Lizards inclusive!” cried Rupert. “I 
say, Cyrilla,” he added, pointing dowui a 
long green avenue to a magnificent stag that 
trotted lightly towards them, “I have no 
objection to acknowledge a relationship with 
that fine fellow and all his family. Leave 
Melanie her learned lizard, and let us try to 
get a nearer view of our noble relations.*' 

They proved, however, somewhat difficult 
of .approach: too well nurtured to be wild, 
they nevertheless exhibited a degree of 
timidity so mixed with stateliness, that it 
strongly' resembled the proud shyness not 
unfrequently found in men of noble race. 
They occasionally stopped, gazed haughtily 
round, moved on a few steps, grazed a little, 
trotted a little, and, in short, managed suc- 
cessfully to keep their admiring pursuers at 
a respectful distance. 

Melanie walked on pensively', — not a plank 
flower, or visible insect escaped her notice. 
The distant herd of deer, Cy'rilla’s white 
dress and fluttering ribbons appearing and 
disappearing in the distance, — Rupert’s boy 
ish springs, and even the odd hunting-call 


CYRILLA. 


115 


with 'which, he endeavored to attract the 
fearful doe and flying stag towards him, — 
ill added to her enjoyment; a mixed feeling 
*f religious awe and poetic inspiration came 
over her, and, ever prepared for such mo- 
ments, she crossed one of the numerous grass 
avenues, and entering a beech-grove beyond, 
sat down beneath one of the trees, drew her 
dttle red morocco note-book from her pocket, 
and, after a short reverie, began to write. 

It was here that she was found soon after 
by her breathless companions ; and while 
Cyrilla lightly threw herself on the ground 
beside her, playfully endeavouring to look 
over her shoulder, Iiupert contemplated, 
with folded arms, first his cousins and theft 
his beech-trees. Whatever he thought of the 
former, he kept to himself ; on the beauty of 
the latter, notwithstanding Cyrilla’s signs of 
silence, he became eloquent, nor ceased until 
she bent back her head, and, following the 
direction of his eyes, admired the tall straight 
trunks which, cleared* of all underwood, had 
grown to an unusual height. 

“You might have found a prettier place to 
write your verses, Melanie,” he said, looking 
round: “I had no idea you were such an 
admirer of woods and forests, or I should have 
brought } T ou here long ago. A little further 
on is my favourite spot, just where the river 
flows into the lake, and one can run in with 
a boat under the trees. Cyrilla shall read 
me your verses there, and if we find them 
appropriate, they shall be painted upon 
wood, in the form of a shield, and hung on 
the tree opposite to a bench which lias lately 
been erected: that shall be our trysting- 
place in future.” 

“ Painted upon wood,” repeated Cyrilla ; 
“ 0, you unpoetical animal ! Had you said 
you would cut them in the bark of a tree, 
lerhaps she might have given them to you, 
nit you have no chance now.” 

“ The bark of the tree in question,” said 
Rupert, “has already been taken possession 
of by some one. who discovered and enjoyed 
the seclusion of the spot before I did.” 

“Your predecessor, most probably.” 

“ Certainly not, the letters are too recently 
engraved ; a year — two years at most.” 

“And their purport?” 

“Their purport,” replied Rupert, “be- 
trayed the author to me ; mysterious words 
making allusion to the first and last letters 
of the alphabet, which, being interpreted, I 
think, means Adlerkron and ZorndorfF, — 
something about the stream of destiny, the 
chains of strong necessity, and all that sort 
of thing. The letters are the oldest Saxon, 
and I do not know any one but Zorndorff 
likely to write in what is hieroglyphics to 
the vulgar eye. For my part, had I been 
disposed to play pastoral, you would have 
seen your name in sprawling characters b}' 
this time, whereas he carved so delicately, 
that they have only now become visible at a 
little distance.” 

No one seemed disposed to pursue the 
topic, and they walked on in silence for some 
fcime. Although the trees were far apart, 
the shade had become deeper, almost gloomy, 
perhaps the subject of thought or train of re- 


flection also. They were glad when, emerg- 
ing from the wood, they once more saw the 
clear sky, and nothing but a gentle declivity 
between them and the lake. As they de- 
scended it, Rupert pointed to where, after 
forming a small bay, a dark-coloured river 
noiselessly discharged itself into the bright 
expanse of waveless water before them.” 

“I should like to explore,” said Cyrilla: 
“if it were not too late, we might follow the 
course of the river, and see to what it 
leads.” 

“To a marsh, extensive bogs, and another 
lake,” said Rupert ; “all which are dignified 
with the name of moorland on the map. 
The President, however, thinks that by a ju- 
dicious system of drainage, and top-dressing, 

I might make Freilands twice as valuable as 
it is ; and I intend to try, as it will be an oc- 
cupation for me this summer. You will al- 
ways find a boat under the trees here, and 
if you do not think it too late now to under- 
take a voyage to the upper lake ” 

“ O, much too late,” cried Melanie, quick- 
ly; “besides, you told Adrienne that the 
boats were out of repair.” 

“Some of them are,” said Rupert, laugh- 
ing ; “ but there are two or three in very 
good order, and this is one of them. You 
had better let me row you across the lake 
instead of returning through the wood, 
where, after sunset, it is disagreeably dark 
under the old trees.” 

While he stooped to loose the boat, Melanie 
and C3 T rilla sat down on a long rustic bench, 
and at the same moment looked towards the 
opposite tree, and discovered the Saxon let- 
ters of which Rupert had spoken. 

“ I should never have suspected him of do- 
ing anything so so puerile,” observed 

Cyrilla. 

“He has a way of doing such things that 
deprives them of every trace of absurdity,” 
said Rupert, turning round. “I am con- 
vinced those letters were engraved with the 
greatest solemnity, and were never intended 
for profane eyes. This tree was surrounded- 
by others at the time, for the clearing of the 
hill was made by my orders when I was here 
alone last summer. That he will consider 
the discovery an omen of some kind or 

other is certain don’t you think so, 

Melanie ? ” 

“I think it is not quite i; 

probable,” she answered, rather unv 
lingly. 

“I should not be surprised if he can 
here some day to erase the letters,” said R. 
pert : “ nothing he dislikes so much as m3 
discovering anything of this kind.” 

“I’m sure I don’t wonder at it — 3’ou are so 
merciless in your ridicule.” 

“ I intend this time to be more than merci- 
ful,” rejoined Rupert. “ I shall be silent. In 
feet,” he added, as he assisted them into the 
boat, “ if the tree were not so beautiful, and 
if it did not grow so very graceful^* over the 
water, I should probably have condemned it 
with the others, which, of course, would 
have beei* a bad omen for Zorndorff. How- 
ever, he shall enjoy all his omens in peace; 
and I may preserve my tree, if Cyrilla will 


116 


CYRILLA 


but show a little of the courage which pro- 
cured for our ancestors the sobriquet of ea- 
gles, (Adler.)” 

CjTilla did not choose to answer. She 
bent over the boat and drew her fingers 
through the water ; while Rupert, who was 
seldom long silent, continued his conversa- 
tion with Melanie. “ I shall never,” he said, 
“be able to understand Zorndorff. While 
making pretension to be among the most en- 
lightened of the enlightened, he evinces rev- 
erence for things that are treated with con- 
tempt by the most commonplace description 
of people. It is incomprehensible to me how 
any rational man can allow his conduct to 
be influenced in these days of enlightenment 
by an astrologer, as Zorndorff has done, and 
is doing.” 

“ I think you are mistaken about that,” 
said Melanie. 

“Not a bit I tell you he has not the 

smallest doubt, that everything predicted by 
that charlatan friend of his will come to 
pass.” 

“ He he assured me,” said Melanie, 

M that all about the astrologer was a jest.” 

“I wish it were,” rejoined Rupert, with 
unusual seriousness, as he rested on his oars ; 

‘ for his determination to fulfil this same des- 
tiny may cause me, and some one I like bet- 
ter than myself, much annoyance. Believing, 

as I do, that deeds make destiny ” 

“0 Rupert,” cried Melanie, interrupting 
him, “how many events in life occur over 
which our actions have had no influence ! ” 
“Very few, I suspect, that might not, if 
conscientiously pursued to their source, be 
traced to ourselves, cases of illness and nat- 
ural death excepted.” 

“ Rupert is right,” said Cyrilla, thought- 
fully, as she recalled the few events of her 
life, and felt how painfully her deeds were 
influencing her lot in life. Had he been 
thinking of her ? Did he begin to suspect 
Rnything? She looked up. He was rowing 
slowly — his eyes intently fixed on the oar, 
which was just then serving a« rudder, Cy- 
rilla having altogether forgotten that she had 
undertaken to steer. 

“ Before we pursue our subject, Rupert,” 
began Melanie, “I should like to know if we 
understand the word destiny in the same 

sense. I know you are no fatalist ” 

“ Certainly not, or else I should not attach 
much importance to our deeds,” answered 
pert, smiling. “ However, instead of talk- 
j about the word, let me tell you, without 
3erve, what I mean. I must begin by say- 
g that I know Zorndorff well, better and 
>nger than you ; for although his father and 
my uncle naturally avoided each other’s so- 
ciety, we contrived to become intimate even 
when boys, and still more so after being to- 
gether at the university. Eminently talent- 
ed, he was also proud and overbearing to a 
degree that often turned his warmest admi- 
rers into enemies; and on one occasion pro- 
voked a duel which might have ended very 
unpleasantly for him, if I had not carried off 
his wounded adversary to Windhorst, and 
kept him there concealed until thd» inquiries 
•bout hun ceased, and a desperate sabre 


wound* on his face had healed. For ihi* 
small service Zorndorff chose to honour me 
with the name of friend, and bestowed on 
me then more of his confidence than is quite 
agreeable to him now. He spoke unreserv- 
edly of his acquaintance with the astrologer, 
and I remember even introduced me to him 
somewhere or other.” 

“Indeed! What sort of looking person 
was he ? ” 

“A middle-aged, quiet, gentlemanly sort 
of fellow. I did not say much to him, as I 
had predetermined not to have my ‘ planet 
ruled ’ I believe that is the proper expres- 
sion.” 

“ I remember,” said Melanie, “ your telling 
us one evening at Freilands, that Edouard 
had said your destiny and his were connect- 
ed. That you never asked to se« the scheme 
of your horoscope is incomprehensible tc 
me.” 

“ To overcome my incredulity, as he called 
it,” continued Rupert, ““Zorndorff wrote *put 
his and gave it to me. His disposition and 
talents were well described, but that made 
little impression on me, for the man knew 
him, both personally and by reputation, for 
several years; so I threw the paper aside, 
and retained but a very partial recollection 
of its contents.” 

Rupert paused. 

“Well,” said Melanie, “and what makea 
you think of it just now ? ” 

“ I found it when looking over some papers 
this morning,” replied Rupert, “ and was 
sorry to perceive something in it -that may 
influence Zorndorff ’s conduct in a manner 
likely to be very irritating to me.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ It says,” answered Rupert, with the near 
est approach to a scornful smile that Cyrilla 
had ever seen his well-formed mouth assume, 
“it says, first of all. that, by 'prudent con- 
duct and at the proper conjuncture , he would 
obtain immense wealth by a woman ”’ 

“ You must allow,” cried Melanie, eagerly, 
“that at least that has happened in the full- 
est sense of the words, and, I may say, with- 
out having been sought by Edouard — in fact, 
against his inclinations.” 

Rupert shook his head, looked at Cyrilla, 
and continued: “As for that part of it, 1 
could myself have predicted something simi- 
lar. Zorndorff had a serious way of joking, 
about selling himself to the highest bidder, 
which, I stispect, was not lost on his friend. 
However, that does not concern me ; but 
when he goes on to promise him — of course, 
also at the proper conjuncture , another mar- 
riage which is to give him all he most desires 
to possess —I cannot help feeling a suspicion 
that Zorndorff’ in the expectation that his 
wife will die, already imagines Cyrilla 
doomed to be his, and my hopes that he will 
voluntarily release her from her promise 
have in consequence considerably dimin- 
ished.” 

The impression made on both his hearers 
was too great to be unobserved even by Ru 
pert ; he looked at them alternately, and 
then continued, “ I see you agree with me, 
and have only to add, that nothing tut deedt 


C YRTLL A. 


lit 


will convince ZorndorfF, or shake his confi- 
dence in his astrologer, whose predictions, of 
course, like the Delphic oracles, admit of va- 
rious interpretations. Let Cyrilla but con- 
vince him fhat she will not be this second 
wife, and he will seek some one else to fulfil 
his destiny ; perhaps Julie de Lindesmar, 
who seems of late to interest herself marvel- 
lously in all that concerns him.” 

“No, no, no,” cried Melanie, shaking her 
head ; “ he never would, he never could 
think of her. But I do not quite under- 
stand,” she added, turning to Cyrilla, “what 
the astrologer meant by first wealth, and 
afterwards ‘ all he most desired to possess.’ 
If the case had been reversed, why ” 

“ It would not have been so applicable,” 
said Rupert ; “ but the fact is, there is a good 
deal of oracle-like obscurity in the marriage- 
portion of the horoscope — the very words 

* wealth ’ and ‘ all lie most desired to possess,’ 
with regard to him, bear nearly the same 
meaning. I have mentioned all these things, 
to make it evident to Cyrilla that her actions 
can henceforward seriously influence both 
Zorndorff ’s and mine; or, as he would say, 

* our destinies are iu her hands.’ ” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” exclaimed Cyrilla, with 
a, look of dismay, as the consciousness of her 
complicated relations passed like a lowering 
cloud over her mind. 

“ The astrologer says that the year of the 
two threes, which means this present year, 
1833, will be decisive for both of us,” said 
Rupert,” once more beginning to row vigo- 
rously ; and my present agreement with you, 
Oyrifta, oddly enough will lead to the verifi- 
cation of his words, almost as much as Zorn- 
dorff’s scrupulous endeavours to fulfil the 
other predictions. Until to-day, I never 
comprehended his leaving his wife a few days 
after their marriage, to look at an old castle 
in Silesia which was to be sold — there were 
odd rumours that he had gone elsewhere at 
the time, but I now believe he really wished 
to purchase the ofd barrack of a place.” 

Melanie and Cyrilla remembered his visit 
to Salzburg, and looked at each other in- 
quiringly. j 

“ His disappointment about being too late 
for the sale was too remarkable not to be 
sincere, *’ continued Rupert; “and I have 
reason to know that he has been ever since 
'desirous of purchasing something of the same 
kind. This morning I read the prediction 
that a great portion of his life would proba- 
bly be spent in calm retirement from the 
world, in a castle of immense dimensions.” * 

“ I have heard him speak to Wilhelm about 
giving up his ambitious schemes, and retiring 
to the country,” observed Melanie, thought- 
fully, “ but it is said that his attention to 
business is still as unwearied as ever.” 

“It is singular,” said Rupert, “that all his 
efforts to purchase where the buildings are 
extensive have been frustrated, and that 
every other way of investing his property 
seems open to him.” 

“And yet,” said Melanie, in a low voice, 
’“such is Edouard’s indomitable perseverance, 
that I have little doubt he will eventually 
m habit a large castle.” 


“ If his own exertions and money can pro* 
mote his wishes, I think he will,” said Ru- 
pert; “and, provided Cyrilla be not his 
companion, I have no sort of objection to the 
plan.” 

While still speaking, they had approached 
close to the island, and Rupert observed with 
surprise a small boat fastened at the landing 
place, and a shawl thrown on the bank, 
which Melanie immediately recognised as 
Madame de Bellegarde’s. “I might have 
known that Adrienne would not wait until 
to-morrow, or give me the pleasure of sur- 
prising her with the others,” said Rupert, 
with some vexation ; “ she will, however, be 
surprised in a manner she little expects, on 
the island! Now for the well-merited pun- 
ishment,” he added, and, stooping down, he 
unfastened the boat, attached it to his own, 
and, notwithstanding all Melanie’s expostu- 
lations, began to pull towards the opposite 
shore. 

“ Rupert, just consider for a moment ; she 
is probably alone with M. de Klernni- 
hein ” 

“ She imagined herself so, I have no doubt, 
when she stepped on shore,” answered Ru- 
pert, laughing ; “ but by this time she has 
found out her mistake.” 

“ Who else is on the island ? * 

“ Seven very good friends of Klemmhein’s 
— in fact, my dinner party are there drinking 
coffee and smoking. I did not know what to 
do when I received your note, until Arnheim 
proposed a retreat to the island, promising 
to remain there until I sent the fisher to let 
them know that we were at supper.” 

“ Major Arnheim ! ” exclaimed Melanie, 
“just tjie last person Adrienne would like to 
meet under such circumstances,” 

“ Stauffen is there also,” said Rupert, ap- 
parently much amused ; “ two of the steadi- 
est men in the regiment. Klemmhein will 
get a lecture from the one and a sermon from 
the other to-morrow morning, as sure as his 
name is Fritz.” 

“ I don’t care what lie gets,” said Melanie, 
impatiently, “ but I cannot allow Adrienne 
to be left in such a predicament — only ima- 
gine her embarrassment! ” 

“ Ah, bah ! I daresay she is sitting with 
• them as jolly as a bacchante.” 

“How the people in Exfort will talk ! ,; 
continued Melanie, with heightened color, 
“ and put all sorts of odious constructions on 
her thoughtlessness — and our little coterie 
will suffer too, and the Freilands parties will 
be spoken of in a manner to make Wilhelm 
forbid our joining them in future.” 

Cyrilla looked grave, Rupert paused, con- 
sidered a moment, and then turned tli$ boat 
round to the island again. They landed and 
reached the cottage just in time to hear 
Madame de Bellegarde say, “ That she only 
regretted the boat was too small for the 
whole party, but that she would send an- 
other for those who remained, as soon as 
possible.” 

“ Capital ! ” whispered Rupert to Cyrilla, 
as they looked through the foliage of the 
trees, and saw the object of their solicitude 
standing amid a bevy of officers, whose flush 


118 


CYRILLA. 


ed faces exhibited various expressions of sur- 
prise, amusement, and contempt. 

“Klemmhein has betrayed us,” cried Major 
Arnheim, laughing; “he knew that we were 
to dine with Adlerkron.” 

“Precisely,” said Madame de Bellegarde, 
“and dire<ftly Rupert made difficulties about 
a boat, I suspected you were here, and in- 
sisted on coming myself to invite you to join 
us.” 

“Hang me,” whispered Rupert, with a look 
of amazement, “ if 1 know whether she is 
telling stories or not, but I rather think she 
is, for she fears Arnheim, and positively dis- 
likes Stauffen. So,” he added, coming for- 
ward, “so, after all I said to you, here you 
are ! My boat is large enough for the whole 
party, if you will allow us to returii in 
yours. It is very kind of you to release my 
prisoners.” 

Madame de Bellegarde seemed charmed 
with this arrangement, and the embarkation 
was quiet enough ; but no sooner had the 
larger -and better-manned boat pulled out 
into the lake, than peals of laughter were 
wafted from it along the tranquil waters. 
Klemmhein murmured the words, “Confound 
them,” as he looked over his shoulder towards 
Rupert, whose sparkling eyes contrasted 
oddly with the forced gravity of his other 
features. Madame de Bellegarde bent for- 
ward, and, clenching her fingers, shook the 
diminutive fist so formed at the latter, while 
she volubly poured forth a succession of un- 
reasonable reproaches. 

“ It is not my fault, Adrienne,” he answered, 
laughing, “ that you chose to go on a voyage 
of discovery, and found an island inhabited 
by savages ! I am sure I said enough to de- 
ter any one but you from going on the lake 
this evening ; even Julie refrained, when she 
heard I wished to surprise her with my cot- 
tage to-morrow ” 

“But,” persisted Madame de Bellegarde, 
“ instead c>f that stupid story about the boats 
not being in order, why did you not say those 
odious men were iu the way ? ” 

“ Because they went out of the way.” 

“ I don’t understand . . . .” 

“They dined with me; and when I re- 
ceived Melanie’s note, very good-naturedly 
proposed retiring to the island with their cof- 
fee and cigars. I am glad you have recom- 
pensed them by an invitation, which will be 
particularly welcome to Arnheim, as he can 
enjoy the society of some one confided to your 
care for this evening.” 

“ Who? Is it Ida .... or Hermine . . . . 
or Adelheid ?” 

“ That you must yourself discover. Arn- 
heim praises you excessively .... as chape- 
ron ; he says you are the least troublesome 
verson in that capacity he has ever met.” 

“I understand; but he shall find the con- 
trary this evening.” 

“Too late ; the affair is settled* and will be 
publicly announced in a day or two.” 

As they walked towards the house, Ma- 
dame de Bellegarde turned abruptly to 
Klemmhein, and asked him if he had known 
that his friends were on the island. 


“No; on my hon.uir,” he answerea e» 
gerlv. 

“ They said you had betrayed them,” she 
rejoined, with some asperity. 

“ I knew they were to dine with Adler- 
kron, as I too had been invited ; I preferred 
going to you, and not seeing any trace of 
them when we arrived, concluded they had 
all left,” 

Madame de Bellegarde began to linger be- 
hind, and speak in the drawling indistinct 
manner which she always assumed when she 
did not choose to be understood by any one 
but the person immediately addressed. Me- 
lanie stopped, waited, made various innocent 
attempts to draw her into conversation — all 
in vain. Rupert, who had been talking to 
Cyrilla, at last interfered. 

“Never mind her, Melanie,” he said, half 
laughing. “You are only boring her and 
yourself to no -purpose.” 

“I cannot imagine,” observed Cyrilla, “ what 
she finds so particularly attractive in M. de 
Klemmhein.” 

“He is goo^-natured and gentleman-like,” 
replied Rupert. 

“But,” said Cyrilla, “not by any means so 
amusing as M. de Bellegarde, who is also 
good-humoured, and certainly very indulgent ; 
lie allows Adrienne to do whatever she 
pleases.” 

“She would do that at all events.” 

“ You seem to know her well? ” 

“As well — better, perhaps, than if she were 
my sister. In the time of our greatest 
intimacy, she told me that going into society 
without having some one particular object 
of interest, was intolerably dull work aftep 
the first year, which, of course, was wholly 
devoted to dancing, and the satisfying of 
divers little personal vanities. She made me 
rather a convert to her opinion ; and since 
then, and in consequence of later experience, 
I think the less married people live in what 
is called the world the better ; that is, until 
they have grown-up sons and daughters.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“ I hope you are not alarmed at my cpm- 
ion ? ” 

“N — o; but I should like, to> know some- 
thing of your experience.” 

“You think, perhaps, it has not been suffi- 
ciently extensive to warrant what I have just 
said,” replied Rupert, “ and you may be 
right. I confess having judged more ffun 
observation than actual experience.” 

“ I was not thinking of that, and only want 
to know something about your ‘ particular 
objects of interest,’ ” said Cyrilla, smiling. 

“ My first was Melanie,” began Rupert,, 
gaily. “After having adored her in the most 
poetical and deferential manner for more than 
h year, Adrienne chose to patronise me — 
much in the way she does Klemmhein now.” 

“ That did not last long,” said Melanie, 
laughing. 

“ No ; we had been too intimate as children, 
knew each other’s faults .perfectly, and did 
nothing but quarrel and call each other uglj 
names.” 

“And then ....?” 6aid Cyrilla, archly 


i- " 


CYRIL LA. 


“ Then .... then .... what did I do next, 
Melanie ? ” 

“I don’t know ; your ‘objects of interest’ 
have been too numerous for my memory ; but 
I think .... I heard .... something 
about Virginie.” 

Cyrilla saw his quick glance towards her 
sister, marked the rush of blood to his tem- 
ples, and waited with some anxiety for his 
answer. 

“ Virginie,” he repeated, with a slight, de- 
gree of embarrassment; “Virginie might 
have turned a wiser head than mine, with 
her strong feelings and impassioned manner; 
but years of unreserved intimacy blunted my 
perceptions, I suppose, for I never got be- 
yond the regard befitting a friendship that 
had commenced time out of mind.” 

Cyrilla drew a long breath. 

“ Taking her all in all,” continued Rupert, 
with some warmth, “ she is by many degrees 
the best of the family. Julie is, and alwa} T s 
was, an audacious coquette ; and as to Adri- 
enne . . . .” here he stopped and looked down 
the avenue, at the end of which Madame de 
Bellegarde was still loitering, affectedly pi ay- 
ing with her parasol, while Klemmhein partly 
carried, partly trailed after him, her long 
many-coloured Indian shawl. “Is it not pro- 
voking to see her acting so foolishly, expos- 
ing herself so continually to ridicule and con- 
tempt? You have no idea of the manner in 
which the Bellegardes and the Lindesmars 
are spoken of in Exfort.” 

“After all,” said Melanie, “it is hard that 
a woman should lose her reputation in con- 
sequence of conclusions unkindly drawn from 
mere appearances. The very pardonable wish 
to enjoy the society of an agreeable man, or 
at worst the yielding to an impulse of vanity, 
is often denominated crime by the censorious 
world ; and I am convinced that in ninety- 
nine cases out of a hundred, nothing of the 
kind ha& been intended, or even thought of 
.... by our sex at least.” 

“ I am sorry I cannot give you the same 
assurance for mine,” said Rupert, laughing ; 
“ and therefore it is better that women 
should enjoy the society of agreeable men 
with a degree of moderation which may 
defy the censure of the world. You have 
always done so, and no one can doubt that 
our temptations to act otherwise have 
een much greater than Adrienne de Belle- 
garde’s.” 

“For me there was no temptation, no 
danger,” said Melanie, pensively ; “the mem- 
ory of Englmann ever hovered round me 
like a guardian angel — my ideal was too 
exalted for any other even momentarily to 

approach it Edouard alone at one time 

but no, hie was but the outward form 

of the perfection I sought Great was 

my reliance on him — bitter my disappoint- 
ment ! ” 

“ His conduct to Cyrilla naturally shocked 
you,” said Rupert, his eyes fixed intently on 
the ground while he spoke ; “ it was dishon- 
ourable, it is ungenerous and selfish beyond 
measure. Cyrilla has exacted a promise of 
neutrali ty from me, that is perhaps the hard- 
est trial to whifii 1 could have been subject- 


m ' 

ed ; but a month , hence I hope for some expla- 
nation, and in the meantime, Melanie, you 
who know the nature of our present engage- 
ment ” 

“It is no engagement,” cried Cyrilla, in- 
terrupting him quickly; “I am not yet at 
liberty to make one.” 

“I consider it an engagement, on my part- 
at least, for the next four months,” rejoined 
Rupert ; “ and I w T as about to request Mela- 
nie to bear it in mind, and use the influence 
which she possesses with Zorndorff to our 
advantage?” 

“ My efforts hitherto have been unsuccess- 
ful,” said Melanie ; “but Cyrilla can tell you 
how unceasing they have been. If the assur- 
ance of my best wishes be of any value, 
believe me that no one more sincerely desires 
the removal of all impediments to your mar- 
riage, — no one would more rejoice in your 
union with Cyrilla than I should do.” 

“Dear Melanie,” cried Rupert, eagerly; 
“that is the most intelligible and kindest 
speech you have ever made me ; ” and, 
taking her hand in both his, he thanked 
her with a fervour so unusual, that it at- 
tracted the attention of Julie and some 
others, who were standing on the law r n. 
Their laughter made Melanie look up, and 
the first person on w T hom her eyes rested 
was Zorndorff. His unexpected reappear- 
ance caused her to start ; his inquiring gaze- 
seemed a sort of warning to her omen-seek- 
ing disposition ; she snatched her hand 
from her cousin's, and whispering hurriedly, 
“Don’t thank me for mere good wishes — I 
cannot be of any real service to you,” 
walked into the tent. 

Rupert turned to speak to Cyrilla , but 
she had disappeared altogether, and it was 
not until an hour afterward he discovered 
her alone in the music-room. It w T as so 
dark that he could not distinguish her fea- 
tures ; but she continued to sing at his 
request, though a slight tremor in her voice, 
betraying past or present emotion, was sov.n 
so dissonant to his joyous temperament, that 
he stopped her by saying, “ Come, dear 
Cyrilla, I perceive that singing is an exer- 
tion to yqu to-night, let us join the merry 
party on the lawn, and banish all our cares, 
for the rest of the evening.” 

As they passed through the large drawing- 
room, a dark figure rose from one of the 
chairs, and moved stealthily into another 
room. 

“ Who is it ? ” whispered Cyrilla. 

“ Zorndorff, I am almost sure.” 

“ And he has been sitting here listening, 
while I have been singing that song, and 
Oh, what will he think of me?” 

“ What song ? What do you mean ? ” 

“Theckla’s song and it brought to my 

mind the evening I had sung it for you long 
ago, and all that has since occurred, and I 
have been crying and making a fool of 
myself, and he will totally misunderstand 
me.” 

“I remember that evening,” said Rupert, 
thoughtfully ; “ it was just before our dejcu* 
ner dansant ; but I am surprised to find you 
encouraging reminiscences which are both 


120 


CYRILLA. 


painful and useless ; it is seeking sorrow so 
unnecessarily.” 

“Very true,” replied Cyrilla ; “and mis- 
fortune and sorrow, as Melanie says, seem 
already to have claimed me for their own.” 

“ That was a more poetical than wise 
speech of hers,” said Rupert. 

“ Perhaps so, but there are times when I 
feel a presentiment of grief to come, a fear 

of impending evil a ” 

“0, my dear Cyrilla,” cried Rupert, inter- 
rupting her ; “ I greatly fear that Melanie is 
depriving your youth of all its happiness — 
with all her excellence she is just the most 
dangerous companion possible for you.” 

“But she is so kind and good,” said Cyril- 
la, “and always means so well. Nothing 
could be more disinterested than her advice 
to me has been ; in fact, she risked her own 
domestic happiness in the vain , hope to 
secure mine ! ” 

“That is,” said Rupert, “she played at lot- 
tery with both, and promoted neither. Do 
not think me unkind, if I enlighten you a 
little with respect to her faults or weak- 
nesses, and point out to you that her words 
and actions are continually at variance. 
While declaring that love was beyond all 
price — the greatest of earthly blessings — she 
married the President, for whom she did not 
feel a particle of regard, married him because 
he possessed rank and riches, and deserted 

one of the best fellows that ever lived 

— a man with ‘eyes of deep serenity’ — such 
as she so perpetually describes in her verses! ” 
“ She has told me all that,” said Cyrilla, 
“and says that her lifexhas since been one 
prolonged regret ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” cried Rupert impatiently ; 
“ she would act in the same way if put to 
the proof to-morrow. Now, understand me: 
I don’t blame her for marrying Falkenstein : 
but I blame her for not trying to see his 
good qualities, for not endeavouring to obtain 
his confidence, for not being grateful for his 
tacit indulgence of all her fancies, his for- 
bearance with habit* so diametrically op- 
posed to his own but I believe it 

is necessary to a perfect state of sentimental 
existence, to have a grand secret sorrow, 
and she finds the President, with his gray 
hair and unpoetieal expanse of waistcoat, a 

fit object to inspire eternal regrets 

You may imagine how real they are, when 
you hear her talk with disgust of the world 
and its vanities, and yet live in a constant 
round of dissipation.” 

“Dear Rupert, she cannot help herself; 

her position is ” 

“ Her position is a very common one,” 
said Rupert; “she talks in one way, and 
acts in another, expatiates on the delights 
of a country life, but declines visiting her 

husbandV estate ” 

“ She t<dd me,” interposed Cyrilla, “ that 
it was i*\ an odiously uninteresting country.” 

“All the same,” cried Rupert. “Have I 
not heard her talk of frugality while eating 
green pease at Christmas! ” 

Cyrilla laughed, and so did Rupert; but 
he idded, while they walked towards the 
Uut together, “ It is therefore evident* that 


many people’s, and especially Melanie’s, the 
ory and practice widely differ; her advice 
has not hitherto been of advantage to you — 
avoid following it in future.” 

Zorndorff did not appear at supper : some 
one said he had been seen going towards the 
lake. 


CHAPTER XXXII 

Rlpert's efforts to induce the President to 
remove to Freilands before the month of 
June, although warmly seconded by both 
Cyrilla and Melanie, were in vain. The dis- 
appointment was great; but he soon resigned 
himself to what he laughingly called “a 
little fit of obstinacy, which he had not ex- 
pected from so wise a man,” deferred asking 
for leave of absence, and attended to the 
duties of his regiment. 

The Viscountess de Rubigny had returned 
to hey family in an unobtrusive, some said a 
mysterious manner ; that is r one fine evening, 
at a late hour, she had made her appearance 
at the Bellegardes, accompanied by an Italian 
maid who could speak no German, and a 
sickly-looking, black-eyed boy of about two 
years old, who lisped ver}^ miperfectly in 
French. Now, although the inhabitants of 
the best houses in Exfort had been duly in- 
formed that. M. de Rubigny had been mor- 
tally wounked by a masked figure during the 
carnival of 1832, and though his relations had 
worn mourning the usual length of time after- 
wards, still, no sooner was Virginie’s arrival 
made known, and it had been ascertained 
that neither she nor her family were disposed 
to give satisfactory reasons for her choosing 
to reside in Germany instead of with her 
father-in-law in France, than the people of 
Exfort thought it necessary to give very un- 
satisfactory ones. De Rubigny had had reason 
to be jealous of a certain Marquis wno should 
be nameless, and had written to his father, 
requesting him to promote his removal to 
some other part of Italy. Before the neces- 
sary arrangements had been completed, the 
unfortunate young man had been murdered 

by they would not say who! Or 

no it was Virgiirie who had been jea- 

lous, whether with or without cause was 

unknown that her husband frequented 

various gaming-tables became notorious 

slie had employed some one to watch him. . . 

he had been irritated a quarrel, souffle, 

murder had been the consequence his 

father was inconsolable, refused to see her, 
etc. dee. tfcc. It was also rumoured that 
servants had overheard M. de Bellegarde 
speak loudly of expensive habits and debts 
innumerable, while Madam^had been equally 
loquacious about a brute of a father-in-law 
and a heartless old grandpapa ! Madame de 
Rubigny herself seemed little disposed to be 
communicative. She was more silent than 
ever, and devoted herself altogether to her 
child. When the physician thought the air 
of the town disagreed with him, she removed 
without hesitation to a small lodging at a 
gardener’s in one of the suburbs, and her 
family extolled her conduct in all the super 


CYRIL LA. 


121 


.fatiyes of the Fi<*u'h language. “Yirginie, 
with her luxurious habits, living in two little, 
wretched rooms, without a carpet ! her toilet- 
table the top of a chest of painted drawers ! ! 
dressing her child with her own hands, and 
spending hours with him in the garden ! ! ! It 
was admirable — affecting — sublime ! ” 

And they visited her daily, and found the 
hours, spent in a large arbour at the end of 
a well-cultivated kitchen-garden, by no means 
dull, for there was a fort in the neighbour- 
hood of her humble dwelling, and the officers 
who were not on guard visited those who 
were, and then they turned into the garden 
to inquire for poor, dear, little Alphonse! 
And Rupert invariably stopped there on his 
way to Freilands; and it was remarked by 
the gardener's wife that his visits became 
longer and longer, and that his groom grum- 
bled very much sometimes at his master’s 
apparent forgetfulness of him and his horses. 

The gardener’s garden became for a time 
extremely fashionable. No servants were ad- 
mitted; the company chose to attend upon 
themselves, or rather on each other; and the 
poor stupid gardener’s wife had at least sense 
enough to boil water for tea, and supply them 
with brown bread and butter! This playing 
at poverty in kid gloves and satin bools was 
charming; Yirginie’s grace as she presided 
at her rustic table, inimitable; her distribu- 
tion of weak tea, in cracked delft cups, be- 
witching! A sort of comedy was being con- 
tinually performed, in which Rupert most 
unconsciously began to play a prominent 
part ; while even those who might be sup- 
posed to belong to the audience could not 
always resist the temptation to assist at the 
little scenes daily enacted in the arbour and 
its vicinity. 

Fond of children in an unusual degree, 
Rupert’s principal employment seemed at 
first to be carrying little Alphonse about the 
garden, or chasing butterflies for him among 
the cabbage-plants, or mending broken toys ; 
for, in the year 1833, those “ real tylessings to 
mothers,” as the Athenaeum amusingly deno- 
minates the indestructible toys made of vul- 
canized India rubber, were still unknown. 
But in all these occupations he contrived in 
some wav to interest Cyrilla, though she had 
latterly fcecome extremely guarded in both 
■words and manner, apparently quite as much 
dreading Yirginie’s quiet scrutinizing glances 
as Zondorff’s steady gaze. The latter had 
seldom time to lounge away an afternoon 
with them. When he did so, he was received 
with acclamation, and treated as an honoured 
guest. Julie overwhelmed him with atten- 
tions, which he received with ironical conde- 
scension ; while his nervous wife, fastening 
on Cyrilla, followed her from place to place, 
whispering soft reproaches for supposed ne- 
glect, and assurances that she had followed 
her advice and had got some new books, and 
had begun quite a large piece of tapestry 
work, and that all her physicians said if she 
continued for a few months as tranquil as at 
resent, they could promise her years of 
ealth and happiness! Cyrilla smiled, and 
encouraged her in her good resolutions ; at 
die same time, however, carefully withdrew 


from every attempted approach towards in- 
timacy ; and though they spoke to each other 
with apparently the same familiarity as the 
others, Margaret felt and Zorndorff saw that 
Cyrilla did so merely to avoid singularity. 
But while his wife deplored what she sup- 
posed an unconquerable personal dislike, he 
triumphed in the idea that jealousy made 
Cyrilla shrink from the society of her rival 
Forgetful that in her eyes he had for nearly 
three years appeared in the light of a crimi- 
nal alike callous and tyrannical — unconscious 
that every particle of esteem and affeqtion 
for him had in consequence become extinct 
— incapable himself of trust so implicit as 
Rupert’s — he never even suspected the con- 
ditional engagement between the cousins; 
and therefore, with the exception of occa- 
sional moments of jealousy, he had never 
ceased to flatter himself that her heart -was 
as entirely his own as it had ever been. 
Many trifling occurrences, and Cyrilla’s own 
manner, served to confirm this error; for all 
her self-possession had not prevented so close 
and anxious an observer from remarking a sud- 
den paleness when he appeared, an ill-con- 
ceived trepidation whenever lie approached 
her ; and when at length with secret exulta- 
tion he perceived her first timid efforts 
toward*- conciliation — her half reluctant at- 
tempts to speak to him, he suffered much in 
following the plan he had resolved to adopt 
But he did so ; and, resolutely avoiding her 
advances, pretended to listen with interest 
to the lively gossip of Julie de Lindesmar, 
who, the moment his wife left' his side, in- 
variably took her place — observing, with 
charming naivete, that the contrast of com- 
panions would be good for his health and 
spirits. 

Tired of this manoeuvring, Cyrilla had one 
day seized on an unguarded moment, and 
hastily, perhaps a little imperiously, demand- 
ed the interview he had promised her — but 
— when the next day she went to his house, 
according to appointment, and entered the 
library, she found Margaret lying on the 
sofa and quite prepared to receive her, while 
Zorndorff, after a cold inclination of his head, 
continued writing as if no one had been 
present. Bitter tears of indignation she shed 
during her walk home with Melanie. Many 
were her resolutions never again to' speak'to 
hin); but the thought of being obliged to 
resign Rupert for ever was so painful, that 
by degrees she was induced to listen patiently 
to the diffident extenuation of life conduct 
offered by her sister, and even to hope again 
despite of experience. 

About this time a large circular wooden 
edifice began to be erected not far from Yir- 
ginie’s residence ; in other words, just out- 
side the town. It was a circus for a troop 
of equestrian performers, who, having ful- 
filled their engagements, or quarrelled with 
the directors of the Cirque de Paris, or Ast- 
ley’s in London, had now resolved to perform 
on their own account at the principal (and 
principally garrison) towns of Germany 
Let it not be supposed that their wandering 
propensities, or the fact of their performances 
taking place in a booth, necessarily proved 


C Y R I L L A. 


1S2 


that they -wore oi a worthless or even infe- 
rior description. The beautiful and graceful 
L6jar has sprung through the usual number 
of papered hoops and garlands, and over as- 
tonishing rows of tricolor bands, before the 
admiring eyes of royalty itself in such a 
place ; and her black-bearded husband has 
hung on the flank of his flying courser, or 
driven his nine 'horses with the same uner- 
ring dexterity there as at Franconi’sl 

The troop m question were not quite so dis- 
tinguished, but there were several very good 
riders, vaulters, and jugglers among them ; 
als8 a little girl who performed wonderful 
leaps ; a very handsome woman ; horses, 
mules, and ponies of all descriptions ; a 
“ Monsieur clown,” who spoke very broken 
German ; and a Hans Wurst, who was very 
rough, and dealt out blows and handfuls of 
sawdust in a manner likely to produce bursts 
of applause from the last tier of benches. 

That the building of the circus, and the 
arrival of horses, hoops, garlands, bands, and 
bigas, should cause considerable interest in 
Exfort, will not surprise any one who has 
ever spent any time in a provincial town ; 
and when at length the prima donna arrived, 
the interesting event was naturally discussed 
in every family, and with peculiar zest at the 
assembly which, not long afterwards, took 
place at the gardener’s. 

“Did you see her, too?” asked Madame 
de Bellegarde, turning with her usual viva- 
city to her husband the moment he entered 
the garden. 

“Yes; but at a respectful distance — she 
was sitting in rather a pensive attitude on a 
wooden bandbox in the middle of the 
street 1 ” 

Is she so very handsome ? ” 

“Don’t know, — Klemmhein was nearer, 
and he says she had deuced dirty gloves on, 
and was somewhat swarthy of countenance. 

“She’s an Italian,” said Klemmhein, “but 
there’s Adlerkron ; why have you not asked 
him ? . He talked to her for nearly an hour, 
and has already taken the largest box in the 
circus for the whole time she remains here. 
Her complexion evidently did not displease 
him ; and he is no bad judge of such things.” 

Yirginie’s eyes slowly moved in the direc- 
tion indicated; and a scarcely perceptible 
flush passed over her sallow cheek as Cyrilla 
unhesitatingly said, “ Come, Rupert, tell us 
all about her ; is she handsome ? ” 

“She has magnificent eyes, and raven 
black hair,” he answered, smiling; “and } T ou 
know I consider black hair a positive beauty 
in itself.” 

“ Without exactly meaning to dispute your 
taste, Adlerkron,” said Klemmhein, “I mu^t 
say that fair-haired women have something 
infinitely more angelic-looking than dark- 
haired.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” said Rupert ; 
“ for,” he added, turning to Cyrilla with a 
moaning glance, “if I wanted an angel’s 
ne*ad for a church, I should certainly prefer 
yours to Melanie’s, though she is undoubtedly 
a great deal handsomer than you arel ” 

My only consolation,” said Cyrilla, look- 
ing up demurely, “ is, that artists, who are 


supposed to have studied beauty more than 
other people, almost always give the prefer- 
ence to fair hair. The predilection is made 
evident in a most satisfactory manner in all 
the pictures of the Day of Judgment I have 
e\'er seen.” 

“That is true,” said Yirginie ; “it is quite 
| provoking to see all the fair-haired women 
| going upwards, and all the dark-haired one« 

| going to to ” 

“Out with it, Yirginie,” cried Rupert, 
laughing; “ we are only talking of pictures, 
you know.” 

Yirginie stooped down rather unnecessarily 
to arrange her little boy’s blouse, which had 
| been pulled somewhat awry by a tiny sword 
; that Rupert had just taken an infinity of 
! trouble to fasten in a manner calculated to 
| make as much noise as possible whenever he 
I moved. The child struggled, freed himself 
from his mother’s hands, walked a few steps, 
looked uneasily over his shoulder; and not 
hearing the clinking noise he expected, ran 
to Rupert, and, after a short pantomime of 
childish despair, began to scream with all hia 
might. 

“ What lungs the little animal has ! ” ob- 
served M. de Bellegarde. “You need not be 
anxious about the state of his chest, Yirginie. 
Bravo, bravo encore encore ! ” 

Yirginie, who seemed to understand more 
in her brother-in-law’s speech than “met the 
ear,” first tried to pacify, and then prepared 
to carry off her child ; but Rupert held the 
little bawler fast, and whispered, “ Mamma 

knows nothing about swords. Alphonse 

but it’s not broken, and see if you 

don’t make noise enough directly to astonish 
us all 1 ” 

“He has done that already,” said M. de 
Bellegarde. 

“ Off with } T ou, my little warrior,” cried 
Rupert, after having satisfactorily completed 
the work of untidiness ; and the boy strutted 
forward towards the part of the garden ap- 
propriated to cabbages, trailing his tin ap- 
pendage after him -with evident satisfaction, 
and looking from side to side as if the plants 
had been an admiring multitude. 

“One might moralize, on that baby’s 
thoughts and actions ” began Melanie. 

“ Pray, don’t,” cried Rupert, laughing ; 
“ for I can imagine your drawing a very lit 
tie flattering comparison between some large 
things wearing swords and that small thing 
there!” ■ 

Melanie smiled. “ I should certainly have 
chosen other words ; but at least you have 
made it evident to me that others as w T ell as 
myself make mental comparisons of that 
kind. I never see children playing, without 

the thought suggesting itself Are not 

we like children in the eyes of a higher 
order of beings ? Do they feel the kind yet 
somewhat contemptuous compassion that we 
experience on witnessing the follies or foibles 
of infants ? ” 

“Zorndorff, come nearer,” said Ruperly 
rising; “Melanie is getting into the world 
of spirits, and you can follow her there bet- 
ter than I can.” 

“Rather let ua draw ter back to us,” said 


C YKILLA. 


ZAiiiautif. 4 for, without descending to chil- 
dren’s plays, or ascending to superior beings, 
<ve ourselves can find daily opportunities of 
feeling the contemptuous compassion of 
which she speaks.” 

“ Not I,” cried Rupert ; “I do not even 
experience it for.that little urchin there : on 
the contrary, I can quite enter into his feel- 
ings, participate them, in fact it is but 

a very few years since I, too, trailed my 
sabre, — -the only difference between us worth 
mentioning being, that I did not do it for 
cabbage-plants.” 

u You do yourself injustice,” observed Vir- 
ginie ; “ I never saw any one so totally de- 
void of vanity — so free from such follies, as 
you have ever been.” 

“And yet I trailed my »abre,” rej'oined 
RupeH , pertinaciously. “ Virginie, you know 

“ If,” observed Zorndorff, with a scarcely 
perceptible glance towards Cyrilla, “if any 
one knows the when, why, and where you 
did so, it must be Madame de Rubigny.” 

“Of course,” answered Rupert. “She 
knows as much about me as any one can — 
our acquaintance began when I was but lit- 
cle older than Alphonse.” 

“And friendships begun so early,” ob- 
served Virginie, with a certain degree of 
pathos, “ become a part of our being, and 
seldom end but with life ! ” 

’ Lc*t us take a lease of ours for that 
period,” said Rupert, with a good-humoured 
smile, as he sauntered towards a table in the 
arbour, where, finding a large yellow paper 
printed in placard type, he held it up, and 
began to read aloud : — “ ‘Cirque de Paris ; * 

4 Jeux Olym piques ; ’ ‘ Pas de Deux 4 Pega- 
sus ‘Madame Amina Vinci, <fcc. <fcc. Ac.’ 
Who wiil honour the Circus with their pre- 
sence, and ’who will not? I have places in 
my box for Melanie, Cyrilla, and Virginie.” 

“I am afraid,” said Virginie, with some 
hesitation, “ I cannot ought not to go.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ I have still a sort of mourning ” 

“ Which you may lay aside whenever you 
please, I suppose. I wish these black things 
were gone,” he added, touching some lace 
which formed a rather fantastic but very be- 
coming head-dress. 

“ You don’t like black lace ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I am not learned in such 
matters ; but I would rather see your beau- 
tiful hair than any lace in Christendom.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Virginie 
removed the offending coitfure, but also w'ith 
it the comb that fastened the beautiful hair 
So unreservedly admired. 

Her brother-in-law Oh, why are 

brothers-in-law sometimes so clear-sighted or 
*o facetious ? Is it, that they have nothing 
at stake, and care not whether they mar or 

make ? M. de Bellegarde laughed, and 

exclaimed, “Well done, Virginie ex- 
tremely natural never saw any one 

whose hair falls so often or so appropriately 
as yours ! — but indeed the temptation was 
strong, after ouch a speech as Adlerkron’s.” 

“ My hair falls often but I cannot 

help it,” said Virginie, .slowly and not very 


12 & 

adroitly rolling it round the back of Ikf head 
“Alphonse’s Donne unfortunately cannot 
dress hair, and I cannot afford to keep a maid 
for myself until,” she added in a low voice, 
as she took her comb out of Rupert’s hands,, 
“until I have paid all — all my debts.” 

“ Dearest Virginie,” cried Madame de Bel- 
legarde, approaching her, “it is very naughty 
of Henri to taunt you in this manner, espe- 
cially when he knows as well as I do the ad- 
mirable motives which ” 

“ 0, yes— I understand her admirable mo- 
tives perfectly,” said M. de Bellegarde, nod- 
ding sagaciously. 

While Virginie oestowed a furtive glance 
of intense anger on her brother-in-law, Zorn- 
dorff smiled oddly, and looked from Cyrilla 
to Rupert. The latter was evidently inter- 
ested in some lines which he was making 
with his spur on the gravel walk, and he 
continued his occupation as he said, “I sup- 
pose, Cyrilla, I may reckon on you and Melanie 
to-night ? ” * 

“0, certainly, — I wish of all things to see 
your black-haired beauty.” 

“ I flatter myself,” he said, looking- up with 
a smile, — “ I flatter myself that you will he 
agreeably surprised — she is just the sort of 
woman to look splendid by lamp-light ! ” 
When Virginie’s visitors left the garden, 
she detained Madame de Bellegarde, and 
said, with great irritation of manner, “ That 
it was impossible any longer to endure Hen- 
ri’s insults, and if her sister could not in fu- 
ture come without him, she would rather not 
see her at all ! ” 

“My dear creature, you know lie always 
talks in that wild way — he says the same sort 
of things to me continually. Only fancy his 
telling M. de Klemmhein the other day, when 
we dined at Freilands, that I could drink 
more champagne than any woman of his ac- 
quaintance, and that one could tell the num- 
ber of glasses I had had, by the twinkle of 
my eye ! Did you ever hear anything so vul- 
gar ? and then he laughed and joked about 
it, until M. de Klemmhein quite blushed for 
him. I am sure that was a great deal worse 
than merely observing that your hair tum- 
bled down rather often.” 

“ 0, it was not exactly that I meant 

it was what he said last a a 

sort of reference to things long past.” 

“ Or,” said Madame de Bellegarde, “ or 
things to come, perhaps ? ” 

“Do you think Rupert understood or sus- 
pected ” began Virginie. 

“ I don’t know,” said Madame de Belle- 
garde. “He is too gentlemanlike to exhibit 
a shade of consciousness on such an occasion ; 
he did not even appear to hear.” 

“I did not venture to look at him,” said 
Virginie ; “ for you know. Adrienne, that the 
slightest hint of a wish to attract him would 
be sufficient to put him on his guard. I never 
refer to the past when it is possible to avoid 

it; for, were he once to imagine ” 

“Never mind what he imagines — he is still 
free, it seems, and 3*011 are again so ; therefore; 
to prevent further a rino\ T a nee, I shall enlight- 
en Henri to-night when we are alone. lie is 
i hot such a fool as to interfere wheu there is th<> 


124 


CYRILLA. 


slightest chance of your success , so you have 

nothing to fear from his jests in future 

as far as Rupert is concerned.” 

“ But you need not be too explicit, 

Adrienne.” 

“Of course not. I have only to tell him 
that Ituper* certainly was attached to you 
somt } ears ago; and if it had not been for 
mamma’s awkward manoeuvring, of which 
some busy-body informed his uncle Gottfried, 

there was every chance of a and all 

that sort of thing eh ? ” 

“Exactly — I — wish — I were quite certain 
that his fancy for Cyrilla were over.” 

“You never were quite certain that it ex- 
isted. Did you not tell me yourself that you 
could not get her to confess anything ? ” 

“That is true. Nevertheless, 1 suspect she 
refused him, in order- to be at liberty to 
accept Count Zorndorff, who certainly was 
attached to her at that time, and evidently 
is so still more than is advisable, though Julie 
actually has the folly to imagine lie prefers 
her because she is such a contrast to his 
wife.” 

Madame de Bellegarde shrugged her shoul- 
ders, and began to walk towards the garden- 
gate. 

“If,” continued Yirginie, “if Margaret 
should die, as every one says she will a few 
months hence, Count Zorndorff will assuredly 
offer himself to Cyrilla as soon as he can do 
«o with propriety. I wish I were equally 
sure she would accept him.” 

“ Poor Victor ! ” said Madame de Belle- 
garde, laughing, “I suppose he has no chance 
whatever ? ” 

“ Not the least,” answered Virginie. “ Cy- 
rilla is quite unconscious of his admiration ; 
but even were it otherwise, I do not think 
that grandpapa would consent for some years 
at least, and that would be of no use to me. 

I wish with all my heart she were married 

to any one excepting Rupert He 

quite provoked me just now by calling her 
baby face angelic — an angel’s head for a 
church, with wings under the ears, I sup- 
pose! I felt the greatest inclination to pro- 
pose that she should in future carry a trum- 
pet about with her, and favour her admirers 
with a few blasts occasionally, to complete 
the resemblance ! ” 

“It is very well you were silent. Such a 
, speech would have betrayed a world of jeal- 
ousy.” 

“And I am jealous oh, Adrienne, I 

am horribly jealous,” cried Virginie, vehe- 
mently. 

“Now, pray don't take the affair au seri- 
svx ,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, laughing ; 
“it would be too ridiculous ! Rupert is an 
excellent parti no doubt, but it is absolutely 
necessary for you now to keep your pecuni- 
ary difficulties in your mind, and to marry 
the first man of good fortune who asks you. 
Whether he be named Rupert or Moritz is 
not of much importance. This entre nous , of 
course. ” 

“And do you think me as heartless as 
Julie? ” cried Virginie, catching her sister’s 
Arm. “Do you imagine that I can change 


the object of my affection every six months 
as she does? I tell you no ; I would rather 
beg my bread than marry again, if it be not 
Rupert ! ” 

“ I declare you are quite violent,” said 
Madame de Bellegarde, shrinking a liU.^ 

“You cannot understand me,” said Vir- 
ginie, with a look and tone of contempt 
“ What do you know of si h feelings? ” 

“Gracious, Virginie! how you talk 

just as if I had neither heart nor feelings! 

*• O yes, you have both such as they 

are ! ” ” 

“ Well, I am sure it is better so than such - 
as yours,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, an 
grily. “ I at least never reversed the order 
of things, and offered love instead of accept- 
ing it ; ” but the words had scarcely escaped 
her lips before she repented them. “ Pardon 
me, Virginie,” she said, turning beseechingly 
to her sister, who stood pale and rigid as a 
statue beside her, — “Pardon me: I did not. 
consider what I was saying.” 

“ Make no apologies,” answered Virginie, 
with a tragic air. “ I believe you knew not 
the torture you inflicted : only those who 

have themselves felt are merciful. 

Scoff on ! Why should I care ? Why not 
rather glory in loving the most excellent of 
human beings ? ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” cried Madame de Bellegarde, 
drawing her shawl round her with an impa- 
tient sweep, as if she thought it time to end 
their conversation. “Don’t talk to me in 
this way. Rupert is a dear good soul, gen- 
erous as a prince, and honourable as a knight 
of romance ; but it was his fortune and not 
himself that attracted you, and still more 
mamma, a few years ago.” 

“ I deny that, as far as I am concerned, 1 
said Virginie. 

“You surprise me; for, after all, he is not 
the sort of man to make a woman forget the 
world and everything for him.” 

“More so,” rejoined Virginie, “than your 
present adorer, M. de Klemmhein, I should 
think.” 

“By no means,” said Madame de Belle- 
garde, without the slightest embarrassment 
or irritation. “Klemmhein Inis the incalcu- 
lable advantage of being perfectly devoted, 
whereas Rupert’s attention is bestowed on 
such a variety of things, that he will never 
have time to be more than politely kind or 
good-naturedly civil to any woman.” 

“Very odd that he should have found so 
many willing to receive his good-natured ci 
vilitv!” observed Virginie, ironically. 

“llis position makes him desirable,” said 
Madame de Bellegarde ; “ and I am sorry to 
perceive it is merely a secondary considera- 
tion with you. Vanity is not his weakness; 
and attentions, whether feigned or real, will 
make little impression on him, I fear ” 

“You are right,” said Virginie; ‘ but if 1 
have had a lesson, so has he. Cyrilla has 
made him feel what it is to be slighted. J 
told him it would be so three years ago at 
Freilands, and he is changed (perhaps in con- 
sequence) for the better. ..... is more seri 

ous and steady than he used to be, and .... 


CYRILL1. 


126 


once quite sure that her influence were at 
an end, I should have no reason to de- 
spair.” 

“There is no engagement, at all events,” 
Eaid Madame de Bellegarde, “ and that ought 
to satisfy you ; but now I really must go 
nome, for Henri can pardon anything rather 
than being kept waiting for dinner.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Some days of rain were succeeded by beauti- 
ful spring weather, and again the Bellegarde 
coterie, with the exception of Rupert, began 
to assemble daily at the gardener’s. Little 
Alphonse’s stammering inquiries for “ Upert” 
were at first answered satisfactorily enough 
by Klemmhein, who said either that he was 
on guard at one of the forts, or he had gone 
to Freilands with some famous man, who was 
about to drain the great marsh, turn the 
bogs into corn-fields, and spoil the best 
shooting in the whole country ; but, at a la- 
ter period, when Virginie heard him explain- 
ing- to her child that Rupert was in the Cir- 
cus, “ looking at a pretty lady riding,” and 
the same answer was repeated day after day, 
she began to feel very dissatisfied ; and 
once, when ZorndorfF was present, betrayed 
her annoyance, or, as she herself called it, 
her curiosity, so unequivocally, that all he 
had ever heard or surmised about her and 
Rupert some years before recurred to his 
memory; and while still pondering on the 
probable consequences of plans which he 
imagined more deeply laid than was the 
case, Melanie and Cyrilla entered the garden. 
An irresistible inclination to test the latter 
on the same subject prompted him to con- 
tinue the conversation with Klemmliein. 

“You don’t mean to say that Adlerkron is 
all day and every day in that circus ? ” 

“Not all day, for he only remains while 
Madame Yinci rides. I believe he is taking 
lessons from her.” 

\ “Oh!”. 

“ If,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, laugh- 
ing, “if the best rider in your regiment 
thinks it necessary to receive instruction 
from la bella Amina , I suppose you will all 
follow his example ? ” 

“ I shall not,” answered Klemmhein ; “ she 
is too expensive for me.” 

“Expensive!” repeated Virginie. “£>oes 
she really give lessons ? ” 

“ Adlerkron is getting one just now,” he 
replied. “ As I looked into the circus for a 
moment, on my way here, I saw him walk- 
ing beside her, and listening to explanations 
of the different signs made with her bridle, 
whipy knee, and foot. She certainly is the 
best female equestrian I ever saw, and is at 
| present training a horse, for which, they say, 
Adlerkron is to pay an unmentionable sum 
| of money.” 

“ I suppose,” said Virginie, “ it is in that 
way the lessons are remunerated ? ” 

“ Not altogether there is no sort of 

unnecessary prudery about her; and her 


husband does not make the leas j objection to 
her receiving presents, whethei bouquets or 
bracelets.” \ 

“ You don’t mean to say,” cried Virginie* 
quickly, “ that Rupert gives her such 
things'? ” 

“I have seen her nearly buried under the 
bouquets from Freilands,” answered Klemm- 
hein, hurried into hyperbole by a love of 
banter. “Trinkets are showered upon her, 
and no later than this morning she received 
the very handsomest bracelet that could be 
procured in Exfort.” 

“ Have you heard of these doings ? ” 
asked Virginie, in a low voice, turning ta 
Cyrilla. 

“Of some of them certainly,” she an- 
swered, with a look of quiet amusement* 
“ for I was obliged to choose a bracelet for 
her yesterday.” 

“It would be better,” said Virginie, “if 
you used the privileges of your near relation- 
ship to point out to Rupert the — the impro- 
priety ” 

“But there is none whatever. If it amuse 
him to learn how a woman can perfectly 
manage a horse, notwithstanding all the dif- 
ficulties of her awkward position, why should 
he not? ” 

“ Why not ? ” interposed Klemmhein, with 
affected gravity. “ And why should he not 
practise putting her on and taking her off her 
horse, as I saw him do to-day at least a dozen 
times consecutively? ” 

Cyrilla laughed, and continued : “ I too 
was present one morning with Melanie, and 
liked looking on of all things ; but Rupert 

said there were too many men there 

and he did not wish us to go again. ” 

“ I daresay not,” observed ZorndorfF. 

“I must acknowledge,” said Virginie, “that 

I feel a good deal of curiosity to see 

this wonderful woman.” 

“ Go with Melanie to the circus to-night,” 
suggested Cyrilla — “I believe you are the 
only person in Exfort who has not seen her; 
and I think I may assure you that you will 
be surprised and pleased. Madame Vinci is 
the queen of equestrians, and will to-night 
play Queen of the Amazons.” 

“ Is she then so very remarkably hand, 
some ? ” 

“ Rupert says so,” replied Cyrilla, nodding 
her head with an arch smile ; “ and there he 
is now at the garden-gate.” 

“Upert! Upert!” cried little Alphonse, 
rushing down the gravel walk and shouting 
with delight, as he felt himself raised six or 
seven feet high in the air by his tall friend. 

Virginie followed, and seemed to be making 
some reproaches, to which Rupert did not ap- 
parently pay much attention. 

“How delightfully naive she is in the de- 
monstration of her regard,” observed Zorn- 
dorfF to Margaret, who was standing beside 
Cyrilla. 

“ Who ? Virginie ? ” 

“ Yes. Is it possible you did not observe 
her jealousy about Madame Vinci ? ” 

“ Poor thing ! What tyrants men are whe* 
they once discover their power over w» 


\ 


fie 


/ RILL A, 


You ought to scold your cousin,” she added, 
turning to Cyrilla, “ for his cruel neglect of 
Virgime during the last fortnight.” 

Cyrilla did not answer. Zorndorff imagin- 
ed he detected uneasiness in her quick glance 
towards the gate. 

“ Such perseverance and constancy deserve 
to be rewarded,” he continued ; “and Ad- 
lerkron cannot be so inhuman as to hold out 
much longer.” 

Just then Rupert advanced and extended 
towards Cyrilla an enormous bouquet of the 
choicest hot-house plants. She was accus- 
tomed to receive flowers from him, and had 
never thought it necessary to express much 
gratitude either for them or for any of the 
attentions he habituall} 7 bestowed on her ; 
but his fragrant gift and beaming smile were, 
at that moment, more than welcome. They 
dispelled the first scarcely defined cloud of 
jealousy that had ever threatened to darken 
their intercourse. Her joyous step towards 
him was almost a bound, and, for more than 
a minute, she held the hand as well as the 
bouquet, while she eagerly explained to him 
that lie must keep a place for her in his box 
at the circus, as Virginie had at last consent- 
ed to go with Melanie to see Madame Vinci. 

“ 0 that’s right but I have not time 

to tell her how glad I am, as I must go on 
directly to Freilands. I wish Melanie and 
you would go with me — she could stay on 
the balcony while we went up the river to- 
gether to see how my drainage is getting on. 
I never was so interested in anything in my 
life. The course of the river is being cor- 
rected, several canals cut, and there is every 
likelihood that my little colony of turf-cut- 
ters will become, in the course of time, rich 
farmers. I shall be able to do more for them 

when we I mean to say when I, settle 

definitively at Freilands. There is something 
very pleasant in watching the gradually in- 
creasing prosperity of these poor people — 
one feels that one has not been altogether 
useless in the world.” 

“Dear Rupert, how good you are ! ” cried 
Virginie, who had approached them una- 
wares. 0 

“Vo, no,” he replied, quickly; “you must 
not imagine me better than 1 am. My mo- 
tives are not altogether philanthropical. The 
interests of my colonists are mine in point of 
fact — the only difference being, that they 
feel the benefit of my outlay of capital sooner 
than I can ; but I have been told, and have 
little doubt, that I shall reap considerable 
profit in the course of a few years.” 

Virginie looked wistfully after them as 
they soon after drove away together, and be- 
came so thoughtful, that she scarcely per- 
ceived the coming and going of her other 
numerous visiters. An absence of all forma- 
lity was perhaps one of the most distinguish- 
ing features of their little coterie ; they came 
and went, spoke or were silent, exactly as 
they felt inclined, and no one took the least 
notice of her now as she sauntered up and 
down, apparently occupied with her child, 
while her thoughts were wandering uneasily 
from the circus to the marsh at Freilands. 

/Tm going,” said Madame de Bellegarde, 


moving slowly along the gravel walk, trail- 
ing a handsome shawl after her in the most 
approved manner ; “ the garden is cold, and 
so is the tea, and M. de Klemmhein is getting 
dull. Where do we meet to-night after 
leave the circus ? ” she asked, with difficulty 
suppressing a yawn ; “ for my part, I neithe; 
know the day of the month nor day of the 
week ! ” 

“ It is Wednesday,” answered M. de Klennr 
hein, “and is the Countess Falkensteii* t 
night.” 

“I think I should like to go home too,” cr 
served the Countess Zorndorff; “I cann r / 
stay here any longer, the garden smells of 
churchyard,” and she shuddered while spea 
ing. ♦ 

“Bless me, Margaret, what uncomfortabV 
ideas you always have! ” exclaimed Madam 
de Bellegarde; “I’m sure if this garden eve: 
put me in mind of such a place, nothing 
would induce me to enter it again.” 

“ If it were not for the people 1 meet her. 

I don’t think I ever should,” said Margaret. 

“ We certainly must be very agreeable, 
observed Julie, who had heard her remarks, 
having found it impossible to retain Zorn- 
dorff ’s attention from the moment his wife 
had begun to speak ; “we certainly must be 
very agreeable, to induce the possessor oil 
such a garden as yours to sit among the spin 
age and celery plants here.” 

“You are something more, something bet- 
ter than agreeable — you are healthy!” said 
Margaret, with a sigh. 

“ Why, yes — but — surely you will allow 
us to suppose you come here chiefly for our 
society ? ” 

“My health compels me to seek association 
with the young, the strong, and the healthy 
— my very existence almost, depends on the 
emanations from the nerves of others.” 

“ Are you taking anything from me or my 
nerves now?” asked Madame de Bellegarde, 
with pretended alarm. 

Zorndorff rose, drew his wife’s arm within 
his, and led her out of the garden. Contrary 
to his usual custom, however, he returned 
immediately, and Madame de Bellegarde, 
half expecting some severe speech, hurried 
past him. It was unnecessary : he was not 
thinking of her or of Julie either, though the 
latter stopped him to hope he had not been 
offended at Adrienne’s jesting question. He 
assured her it was tl\e damp air alone which 
had induced him to hurry Margaret’s de- 
parture ; and then he walked on, and she 
saw him approach her sister Virginie, and 
speak a few, a very few words. The answer 
was a look of surprise and a slight inclination 
of the head. Iler curiosity was excited ; it 
would have been more so had she seen them 
afterwards for more than an hour walking tip 
and down the solitary garden in earnest con 
versation. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The evening as usual brought the friends to- 
gether again ; they poured into adjacent boxes 
at the circus, and greeted eacb other with 


GY KILL A. 


familiar nods, smiles, and that peculiar manner 
of shaking one of the hands in the air so com- 
mon in Germany. Though surrounded by hun- 
dreds of human beings greatly resembling 
them in dress and manner,, they felt the proud 
consciousness of being an order quite apart, the 
observed of all observers. Were they not the 
haute voice, the creme de la creme of Exfort ? 
Was it not a peculiar and much sought privi- 
lege to belong to them? Were there not 
scores of weak-minded cravers of fashion, who 
waited patiently, anxiously, for a sign of recog- 
nition, trying to deceive each other and them- 
selves by speaking familiarly of the Falken- 
ateins, Adlerkrons, Bellegardes, and others, as 
if they were their most intimate acquaintances? 
And, O ye Falkensteins, Adlerkrons, Belle- 
gardes, and others, how often have your faults 
and follies been the jest of those too often dis- 
appointed of the expected bow, or casual sen- 
tence ! Careless of the annoyance they caused, 
or rejoicing in their power, as the case may 
have been, they talked to each other as eagerly 
as if they had not met for a week ; and when 
they did look round them, it was generally 
towards the upper benches, occupied by those 
whose names and faces were alike unknown to 
them, that their eyes wandered. 

As to Rupert, he deserved to be sent to 
Coventry for standing up and talking in such 
an unreserved manner to all the people behind 
him. How different was Zorndorff ! with what 
supreme indifference he leaned back in his 
chair, scarcely deigning to bestow a look even 
on those who composed the outer ring of his 
own circle of acquaintance ! How well he un- 
derstood Julie’s freedom of speech ! How in- 
f^nsely satirical he could be ! 

Among the hundreds assembled in that 
brightly lighted circus to admire the gay 
dresses, handsome horses, and graceful riders, 
there were other coteries no doubt. Perhaps, 
too, there may have been a kind-hearted 
young man in some of those middle benches, 
who, careless of the imaginary boundaries of 
rank, spoke willingly to those who seemed to 
wish it, even if they happened to be in that 
place where superior height denotes inferior 
rank or riches, — there may have been an 
humble imitator of Zorndorff too, with head 
half averted from the area, superciliously inat- 
tentive to the performances, and confining his 
glances to a fair girl in a white robe, frowning 
when she smiled, or eagerly watching for the 
shade of melancholy that so often passed over 
her delicate features. There may have been 
subject for many an interesting volume in the 
history of some of those groups, but — we know 
it not. In vain we scan the rows of faces, re- 
mark every peculiarity of form — to us it is 
like the pages of a book in an unknown lan- 
guage : we see distinctly every letter, we can 
even distinguish the words, but they convey 
no meaning to the mind. Are we annoyed at 
our ignorance? Do we regret the limited 
number of our acquaintance ? No ; on the 
present occasion decidedly not. We, that is to 
say the reader and writer of these pages, be- 
long to the haute voRe of Exfort, if an intimate 
acquaintance with some of its rtiost distin- 
guished members can give any right to the 
we are therefore exclusive — so com- 


m 

pletely so, that for us there is nj one in that 
wooden rotundo but our friends, our acquaint- 
ances ; and to them then let us turn our un- 
divided attention, the more so as at this mo- 
ment the Vinci is about to make her appear 
ance. 

A moment, and she appeared — a moment: 
and she was wildly galloping round the arena. 
To those who had expected to see her raised 
to the saddle, thence to spring through hoops 
or bound over scarfs, — the effect of her sweep- 
ing past them with all' the ease and security of 
a man was startling. She was on the ground, 
mounted again, stretched at full length on the 
horse’s back, or kneeling to take aim at an 
imaginary foe, while her faultless form seemed 
of itself to fall into the most graceful and 
nervous attitudes. The innumerable folds qj 
the transparent drapery that floated round her 
was 'of such amplitude, that a part of it ever 
closely followed her rashest movements. A 
flesh-coloured tricot covered, but in no respect 
concealed, the upper part of her figure ; the 
sparkling helmet of green and gold, of antique 
form, softened while it heightened the regular- 
ity of her strongly marked features, and the 
light javelin that quivered in her hand gave 
endless opportunities of exhibiting an arm of 
perfect symmetry. At length she stopped or 
rather walked her horse, while different barriers 
were being arranged, over which she and her 
impatient steed were to spring; her large black 
eyes wandered boldly and haughtily along the 
tiers of spectators ; but as she passed Rupert, 
the expression changed — she glanced furtively 
at him, then at Cyrilla, half smiled, lowered 
her javelin in salute, and then darted forward 
again in full career. 

The leaps were taken with unerring pre- 
cision ; and on the barriers being raised so as 
to allow her horse to pass beneath them, she 
sprang upright on his back, and cleared every 
impediment with an ease made manifest by her 
alighting alternately on her knees or feet. 
Thunders of applausu shook the frail building ; 
Rupert contributed to the noise with all his 
might — he clapped his hands, rattled his sabre, 
and muttered Italian words of approbation. On 
her appearing again to receive renewed plau- 
dits, even Oyrilla’s tiny right hand tapped 
quickly ou the palm of the left ; and at that 
moment Rupert bent towards her and whispered 
a few words : for a second she seemed to hesi- 
tate, but then gave him, with a scarcely per- 
ceptible reluctance, her beautiful and much 
valued bouquet, which he instantly flung at 
the feet of the fair Amazon. She raised and 
pressed it to her heart, while bestowing on the 
donor the greater part of one of those flourishing 
obeisances peculiar to members of equestrian 
troops. 

All this had been carefully noted by Zorn- 
dorff. His wavering jealousy seized eagerly 
the refutation offered by this trifling circum- 
stance to some doubts inspired by Virginie 
during their private conversation some hours 
before, and he was completely confirmed in the 
persuasion, that whatever hopes or intentions 
Rupert might have entertained a few years 
before, they were now abandoned altogether, 
and from him, as a rival, he had nothing more 
to fear. He stooped forward to speak '/> Vk 


CYRILLa. 


g-inie, who, with a forced smile, was endeavour- 
ing to talk to his wife : “ I hope, Madame de 
Rubignv, you saw that little pantomime ? Will 
it not tend to confirm all I said to you to-day ?” 

“ Had I been Cyrilla,” said Yirginie, “ I 
should not have given him m 'y flowers to throw 
to that that woman ! ” 

“ I daresay not,” observed Margaret, smiling: 
« I confess I was rather surprised, she seemed 
go exceedingly glad to get that very bouquet 
in vour garden to-day ! Did you not think 
so ? " 

“Yes; but Count Zorndorff said she liked 
the flowers merely for their colour and per- 
fume, and that Rupert was a too near relation 
for her to value such little attentions on his 
part.” 

“ I did not hear you say so,” began Margaret, 
turning to Zorndorff; “when did you say that ?” 

Yirginie looked a little embarrassed. 

'* I remember,” she continued, “ your saying 
something about constancy and perseverance, 
and that Baron Adlerkron would be inhuman 
if he — he — did not ...” 

“ Exactly,” said Zorndorff; “ when we return 
home you shall hear all about it. Do you feel 
well enough to go to my aunt’s this evening ? ” 

“ I do not feel exactly equal to so much 
noise and talking — but perhaps you intend to 
go ? ” v 

“ Of course, I do.” 

“O, then, let us drive there at once. We 
shall meet you, I suppose,” she added, turning 
to Yirginie. “I am so glad that you have 
broken the ice, and intend to go out again. — 
Edouard says you sing as well as Cyrilla, and 
that your voices are so alike that one can 
scarcely distinguish them from each other when 
you sing together.” 

“Our voices have a singular resemblance 
even in speaking,” replied Yirginie ; “ but Cy- 
«illa sings infinitely better than I do.” 

“ I hope you will allow Margaret to judge 
for herself this evening,” said Zorndorff. “ I know 
Adlerkron expects you to sing with him.” 

Virginie smiled, and shook her head incredu- 
lously. 

“Fact, I assure you. — You will see.” 

And she did see some music that she had 
been in the habit of singing with Rupert laid 
conspicuously on the pianoforte in the music- 
room by him ; and when Cyrilla seemed un- 
willing to join them, he requested her to accom- 
pany him ; then to sing with him ; others as- 
sisted. A little concert was arranged, and 
Cyrilla was for a short time apparently for- 
gotten. 

She walked unheeded through the rooms, 
ind in the last of them sat down on a prie- 
Dieu , and rested her elbow on her knee, her 
cheek in her hand. A table concealed her 
from the few people who still loitered near the 
doorway ; but even they were soon drawn 
towards the music-room, as much by the sound 
of speaking as singing voices ; for even the 
essentially musical Germans find music a great 
promoter of general conversation. 

Cyrilla’s melancholy train of reflection was 
broken by hearing the door of her sister’s bou- 
doir open softly, some one enter and walk 
directly behind her chair. Besides herself, 
there were but three persons allowed to pass 


through that apartment, as it communicated 
with Melanie’s dressing-room. She heard Ru- 
pert singing ; — she knew the President was in 
the music-room ; — and, without looking up, felt 
convinced that the person who now leaned on 
her chair was Zorndorff. There had been 
something so perversely obstinate in his man- 
ner of avoiding her of late — something so mor- 
tifying to her feelings, in having, though eve* 
so covertly, to watch him and seek his vicinity, 
that her pade had revolted, and caused a sort 
of desperate resignation, almost immediately 
perceived by Zorndorff, who, not knowing the 
total alienation that had taken place, became 
first uneasy, then alarmed, and at last resolved 
to temporize. 

He now waited in vain for her to look up, 
and at length said, “ Cyrilla — I am here.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ W as I wrong in supposing you wished to 
speak to me ? ” he asked with some surprise. 

“No.” 

“Well, then, speak.” 

“ Not here.” t 

“And why not? We are more alone now 
than we are likely to be in my library. There 
are but two hours in the day I can call mine — 
the hours that Margaret sleeps.” 

“You might have given one to me, "when J 
requested it.” 

“ You came too late.” 

“ If you chose to speak to me, you could 
come here, I suppose,” said Cyrilla, coldly. 

“ And be interrupted by my uncle, or have 
Melanie present to interfere between us? N*> 
Cyrilla, if you wish for these papers ” 

“ I have ceased to care about them.” 

“ Indeed ! and why ? ” 

“ Because I cannot make use of them. The 
only person to whom I could apply for ad vie* 
or assistance is Rupert, and you can easily 
imagine why I — dare not consult him.” 

“ I understand you.” 

“ Melanie is unfortunately, for other reasons, 
equally unwilling to consult the President. — 
Of what use would they be to me ? ” 

“ Not much, if you do not inteud to acknow- 
ledge your marriage, or wish to have me more 
in your power than I am at present.” 

Cyrilla looked at him inquiringly. 

“I might now,” he continued, “if I chose, 
deny our marriage, and you would find it very 
difficult to prove.” 

“ I know,” began Cyrilla, with trembling 
eagerness, “ I know that many necessary for- 
malities were omitted ; it was on this that all 
my hopes were built — I thought — ” 

“ You mistake me,” said Zorndorff, quickly, 
“ I only washed to point out to you that, in 
every way, you are completely in my power. 
Without any proof of your marriage, how can 
you hope to annul it ? I so little expected your 
indifference about these papers, that to prevent 
any difficulties in establishing my claims here- 
after, I have bound Weckmann to me by the 
strong chain of pecuniary interest, and have 
never ceased to correspond regularly with him.” 

“ Who is Weckmann ? ” asked Cyrilla. 

“ He who met us at the G6ronst&re Spring 
at.... Spa!” 

“ I thought his name was Maier — you called 
him Maier.” 


CYRIL . A. 


m 


•• His name is Maier ; but you know he is a 
political exile, and, preferring the character of 
•migrant, he has assumed the name of Weck- 
mann.” 

Although Zorndorff’s explanation was given 
with some eagerness, it was a matter of such 
indifference to Cyrilla, that again her head 
sunk on her hand, and her eyes were fixed on 
the ground. 

Some people began to saunter into the room, 
and ZorndorfF slightly raised his voice as he 
continued : “ He writes often, and gives a most 
interesting account of the part of America 
where he resides. Perhaps you would like to 
see some of his letters ? ” 

“ No, thank you — America does not interest 
me in the least.” 

“ But his letters would : the descriptions are 
so vivid, so inspiriting, that I have found them 
irresistible, and have sent him money to pur- 
chase land for me on the banks of the Ohio.” 

* “You?” 

“ Yes ; a voyage across the Atlantic has 
ceased to be anything very extraordinary.” 

Cyrilla had not spirits To jest, and merely 
•hook her head incredulously. 

ZorndorfF saw his wife and J ulie de Lindes- 
mar approaching, and whispered, “ Cyrilla, will 
you meet me this day week ? ” 

“ Is there any use ? ” she asked, without 
moving or looking up. “ Have I any thing to 
hope from you ? ” 

“ Yes, yes — everything — give me but time 
to think — to arrange — and — and come earlier — 
at eleven. — I promise we shall be uninterrupted 
for two whole hours.” 

“I do not want two hours to make a last 
appeal to your justice and generosity — five 
minutes will suffice.” 

“ As you please ; but without Melanie.” 

“ Melanie cannot in any way be a restraint, 

or ” Here Cyrilla stopped, for Julie and 

Margaret stood before her. 

“ So here you are — sitting in this quiet corner 
together,” cried the former, with a half-mis- 
chievous, half-inquisitive glance ; “ and so grave 
too, that one cannot help suspecting you have 
been talking of old times.” 

Margaret looked inquiringly from one to the 
other, her wild eyes opening wider as she re- 
peated the words, “ Old times ! ” and then 
added, “ What times ? ” 

“Not very old times either,” said ZorndorfF, 
quietly ; “ even if you refer to the commence- 
ment of my acquaintance with Mademoiselle 
d’ Adlerkron. W e were, however, not talking of 
those times and the fGtes at Freilands, as you 
perhaps supposed, but of America.” 

“America!” said Margaret, “and what 
about America ?” 

“ I was speaking about a friend of mine who 
is there.” 

“ O, I know the man who writes so 

often, and who offered to purchase land ; what 
he called clearings for you ?” 

ZorndorfF nodded his head. 

“ I dread the arrival of those letters more 
than I can tell you,” she continued ; “ they make 
you so restless and discontented. I cannot 
imagine how any one can wish to go to America 
who has a comfortable home here ! ” 

“ I can,” interposed Julie. “ Nothing I desire 
9 


so much as to have an opportunity of seeing 
the world ; and if Count ZorndorfF will let me 
kuow when he intends to set out on his travels, 
I shall be most happy to accompany him.” 

“ You must wait until the funeral service has 
been read for me,” said Margaret, putting her 
arm within ZorndofF’s, and clasping her hands 
tightly together in a manner that had become 
habitual to her. 

“ (), not at all — we could make a little expe 
dif.ion t« the back-woods together, and then 
return here and tell you all about it.” 

“ No, no ; he shall not go with you,” said 
Margaret, forcing a smile, and trying to enter 
into the jest ; “ I would rather trust him to 
Cyrilla” 

“ There was a time when you might have 
thought differently,” said Julie, nodding her 
head with peculiar archness ; “ but Count Zorn- 
dorff could not easily persuade her to go to the 
back-woods of America with him now!” 

Like all great talkers, Julie often said more 
than she intended ; but though it is not to be 
supposed she was quite unconscious that tills 
speech might move her hearers disagreeably, 
she was by no means prepared for the 'effect 
which it instantly produced. Cyrilla rose from 
her lowly seat, and left the room without be- 
stowing even a passing glance on any of them. 
Margaret hung heavily on ZorndorfF ’s arm, and 
looked up into his face with intense anxiety ; 
and that face, though the features were com- 
pelled in some degree to assume an appearance 
of composure, exhibited such fierce internal 
struggles, that J ulie found it difficult to endure 
the glare of his angry eyes. She had intended 
to hint in a playful manner what she firmly 
believed to be the case — that Cyrilla no longer 
cared for him ; but nothing was further from 
her thoughts than to rouse his ire, as she so 
evidently had done. She stammered some 
excuses, which were received coldly enough to 
mortify her ; and then she began a voluble 
explanation of her words to Margaret, trying 
to remove her jealous anxiety, and to extricate 
herself from embarrassment by the contemptible 
subterfuge but too often used by women, of 
changing and misplacing the words until they 
bore quite another meaning. Provoked at 
finding herself unanswered, she at length 
shrugged her shoulders and walked away. 

“ What did she mean ? ” asked Margaret in 
a scarcely audible voice, and trembling vio- 
lently ; “ I saw that both you and Cyrilla un- 
derstood her, apd that she was referring to 
something that I ought to have heard from 
you — what did she mean ? ” • 

“ She insinuated that Mademoiselle d’Adler- 
kron had not forgiven me for preferring you to 
her.” 

* But did you prefer me ! ” 

“ I gave a tolerably convincing proof of it, I 
think.” 

“Yet I remember Ah ! now I under- 

stand why she will not come to our house, why 

she avoids us, especially me Why did you 

not tell me this long ago ? ” 

“ Because you are so unreasonably jealous of 
everybody of everything I may say.” 

“ But I won’t be jealous if you tell me the 
whole truth .” 

ZorndorfF hesitated a moment, and then said: 


uo 


CYRILLA 


* Mademoiselle d‘Adlerkron was staying with 
her sister the first year I came to Exfort. At 
that time, you know, I almost lived in my 

ancle’s house could not avoid meeting her 

every day ” 

“ Ajd . . . . and she loved you,” cried Mar- 
garet, quickly ; “ tried, perhaps, to alienate 
your heart from me ? ” 

“She never heard you named, aud was not 
aware of my engagement until informed of it 
by my father just before I went to Berlin to 
fulfil it.” 

“ But you think she hoped expected .... 

Poor tiling, how she must have suffered S ” 

“ More than I like to remember,” answered 
Zorndorff. 

“Edouard if it were so you must 

have paid her attention confess you 

liked her admired her every one does 

. . . . you forgot me and .... and . . . 

“ There ! ” said Zorndorff, quietly : “ I knew 
you would be jealous.” 

“ No, no; it is not that .... but why were 
you so very angry at Julie’s remark ?” 

“ I could not quite patiently endure a taunt 
which, though apparently aimed at me, fell 
hard upon a gentle and most innocent woman.” 

“ And are you quite sure, dear Edouard, 
that recollections of her were not the cause of 
that cruel neglect which nearly broke my heart 
before our marriage ? ” 

“Another useless jealous question,” said Zorn- 
dorff, smiling coldly. 

“ No, no ; I am not jealous.” 

“Prove it, then, by never referring to the 
subject again.” 

There way something so unusually harsh 
both in his tone and manner as he pronounced 
these words, that he effectually silenced and 
intimidated his wife; but, alas, confirmed all 
her worst fears. From that evening her sus- 
picious vigilance became unremitting, and at 
last so intolerable, that he visibly began to 
chafe at it. 

Injudicious woman — she imagined she was 
ri vetting his affection when she hung more 
fondly on his arm, watched all his movements, 
followed all his looks ! She no longer sought 
Oyrilla’s society, to whom the cessation of her 
proffers of regard and perpetual invitations 
seemed rather a relief than otherwise. She 
changed the hour of her daily sleep to a time 
when Zorndorff’s business compelled him to be 
absent from home ; and the two hours which 
he had once called his were no longer at his 
disposal. It was absolutely necessary to in- 
form Cyrilla of this change, to appoint some 
other day, some other time, for the interview 
now equally desired by both ; aud for this 
purpose he once more suddenly appeared at 
the well-known door of his uncle’s study. Great 
was his annoyance when he beheld his wife 
stretched on a chaise longue just opposite him, 
her eyes wandering from Melanie and her man- 
uscripts to Cyrilla, who was arranging some 
drawings in a portfolio. He saw at once that 
when he was beyond her observation she in- 
tended to watch Cyrilla. 

He sat down beside Melanie, and, taking up 
some of the papers strewed on the table, said 
he came to apologize for not having yet looked 
them over ; Pet he would read her last poem 


if she wished it just teui, as he had a few mia** 
utes to spare. 

Always eager to obtain his opinion or cor- 
rections, Melanie handed him the well-known 
red book, and some visiters being at the sains 
moment announced, he walked with it to ou6 
of the windows. His wife’s eyes alone pursued 
him, and she saw that before he had had time 
to read even the very shortest of poems, his 
pencil began to move quickly over the tiny 
page ; then, although Melanie was speaking to a 
stranger who had but lately arrived at Exfort, 
he almost interrupted her to place the book in 
her hand, while observing : “ I have made a 
change which I hope will not be disapproved.” 

Melanie nodded her head, continued speak- 
ing as she leaned back in her chair, played 
carelessly with the little volume until ZorndorfI 
had left the room, aud then threw it on the 
table nearest her. 

Margaret's manner had latterly been so in- 
tranquil and odd, that Cyrilla could not help 
watching her with a mixture of uneasiness and 
wonder. In her eyes and movements there 
was much of the restlessness of incipient insan- 
ity, which her words and acts however strangely 
contradicted. She spoke rationally, and less ot 
herself than formerly, made great exertions to 
go out, and, though she looked fatigued, seemed 
paiufully alive to everything passing around 
her. The presence of strangers was no re- 
straint; they did not interest her, and she 
began to saunter about the room, first looking 
at Cyrilla’s drawings, and then playing with 
the flacons and vases on the different tables. 
As the visiters rose to leave, and while Melanie 
was standing in the middle of the room, saying 
some civil parting words, Cyrilla chanced to 
look again towards Margaret ; she had opened 
Melanie’s manuscript-book, and was reading 
eagerly. Cyrilla laid her hand on it, aud ob- 
served, quietly: “You are not, perhaps, aware 
that that book is prohibited.” She let it fall 
so hastily, and looked so alarmed, that Cyrilla 
added with a smile : “ 0, there is no great harm 
done ; but as it contains notes and unfinished 
uncorrected poems, it is an understood tiling 
that it is not to be opened without permission.” 

“ I did not know ; I thought when Edouard 
was permitted .” 

“ She is in the habit of asking his advice and 
assistance,” said Cyrilla; and Melanie uncon- 
sciously confirmed all she had been saying by 
thrusting the book into her pocket the moment 
she turned round, and observing, with a smile. 
“ I must study the alterations at my leisure ; 
and if I do not quite approve, you may tell 
Edouard to prepare for a long discussion at 
Freilands to-morrow.” 

“ I shall not forget to tell him.” 

“We meet at dinner then of course,” said 
Melanie. 

“ Yes, but not tins evening at the Rudharts 
Edouard is overpowered with business at pres- 
ent, and has not time to go out” 

“ He has time enough if he had the inclina- 
tion.” 

“ I shall not try to induce him,” said Marga- 
ret, drawing her various draperies around her. 
“ You may easily imagine that I am but Cos 
happy to have him all to myself.” 


CYRILLA. 


13! 




CHAPTER XXXV. 

“ Cyrilla, I regret to say that Edouard can- 
not keep liis appointment with you, ’ said 
Melanie the next morning, as she entered the 
drawing-room at, for her, an unusually early 
hour. “ I assure you I should this time have 
been ready at eleven o’clock, had he not 
written to say that it is absolutely necessary 
to postpone the meeting for some days.” 

“ I wish I had known it yesterday even- 
ing,” answered Cyrilla, in a tone of annoy- 
ance. “I could not sleep during the night 
from mere anticipation, and feel now so tired 
that I do not even wish to go to Freilands.” 

“But it is exactly there he expects to see 
you and make some other arrangement.” 

“Let me see his note,” said Cyrilla. 

“ There is no note ; I have forbidden any 
more enclosures to Wilhelm, as he always 
seems to think I ought to show them to 
him ; and when Edouard employs one of his 
servants, Margaret invariably hears of it from 
Yica, and either asks him tiresome questions, 
or comes here to me for information, which I 
have no inclination to give her.” 

“Then how did he manage to let you 
know? ” 

“Yesterday, instead of scanning my lines, 
as he proposed doing, he wrote a few words 
under them.” 

“ How very provoking,” cried Cyrilla, 
quickly. “I greatly fear that Margaret read 
them before you did.” 

“ Impossible ! she knows as well as you do 
that this book is not to be opened without 
my permission.” 

“ She opened it nevertheless, and seemed 
to cbnsider that Edouard’s permission extend- 
ed to her.” 

“This is intolerable,” cried Melanie ; “her 
jealousy makes her forget the commonest 
rules of good manners. I dare say she saw 
him writing, and that perhaps made her wish 
to inspect a book which has hitherto been 
totally uninteresting to her ; but I doubt her 
having found out the place ; for had she read 
those words we should inevitably have had 
a scene such as I hope you may never be 
obliged to witness.” 

“ I saw quite enough that one night,” be- 
gan Cyrilla. 

“ O that was nothing ; she had been so long 
insensible in the morning, that I knew there 
was nothing to be feared when I told you to 
go to her.” 

A servant entered just then with a small 
packet from the silversmith’s ; it contained 
the little bells ordered by Count Lindesmar 
for the Polish dance. They were fastened on 
a steel spring, which gave them the appear- 
ance of spurs ; and Melanie, as she laid them 
beside Cyrilla, begged her to try them on and 
dance a few steps, that she might hear them 
tinkle; but Cyrilla shook her head, and 
scarcely looked at them. It was evident that 
their arrival had not interrupted her train of 
thought, for she observed, with a sigh : “ I 
quite dread going to Freilands and seeing Ru- 
pert as, with all his apparent carelessness, 


his memory is excellent, and this very day 
the three months’ silence I imposed on him 
is at an end. What can I say when he asks 
for an answer which I am not in the least 
prepared to give ? ” 

“ Tell him you have had no opportunity of 
speaking to Edouard alone.” 

“ But he will think me so weak, so foolish, 
not to have insisted on an interview. O, Me- 
lanie, tell me what I ought to do ! ” she ex- 
claimed, kne sling on a footstool beside her 
sister’s chair, and looking up anxiously into 
her face. “ I feel that it is wrong to think 

of Rupert as I now do while I am still 

Edouard’s .... wife .... and he .... he has 
so placed me, that even demanding an inter- 
view with him has the appearance of an im- 
propriety, and must be done secretly. O, 
liow I hate secrets and secrecy; they are The 
bane of my life.” 

MelahYe kissed her forehead, while she 
murmured, “ Cyrilla, I cannot counsel you ; 
there is too much at stake — Margaret’s life, 
Edouard’s honour, and all my earthly happi- 
ness ! ” 

“I know,” said Cyrilla, thoughtfully, “I 
know what I ought to do, and I believe I 
could act honourably, and resign myself to a 
calamity caused altogether by nly own folly ; 
but .... to make Rupert suffer, after all his 
kindness and patience . . . . is more than I 
can resolve on. Margaret is getting quite 
strong, and I still indulge the hope that Ed- 
ouard will at last relent.” 

“You labour under a strange mistake with 
regard to these two men,” said Melanie after 
a pause. “I have had time and opportunity 
to know them both well, and our near rela- 
tionship and extreme intimacy prevented 
either from concealing their dispositions or 
tempers from me. Edouard’s passions are 
strong, his will unbending. After what he 
has said to you, I have not the slightest 
doubt that he would indeed brave disgrace, 
imprisonment, death itself, rather than resign 
you. Now, without meaning in the least to 
disparage Rupert’s affection, which is un- 
doubtedly greater for you than he has ever 
felt for any one else, I may assure you that 
you are mistaken if you think his happiness 
♦ or misery is in your keeping. He is a 
man of unbounded energy, diversified em- 
ployments, and cheerful temper. Love is 
with him an additional occupation — nothing 
more ; he has not an idea of passion or any- 
thing resembling it.” 

“So much the better,” cried Cyrilla, “so 
much the better. I have had enough of all 
that— too much — it terrifies me now, and that 
is the reason why I dread speaking to Edou- 
ard — I fear him.’ 

“ And is not fear, in such a case, preferable 
to the dull contentment produced b} r a quiet 
commonplace affection ? ” 

“No! oh, no! ” cried Cyrilla, impetuously. 

“ We never shall think alike,” observed 
Melanie, resting her head on the back of her 
chair, and looking at the ceiling, “never! for 
I could bear any extent of tyranny, provided 
the cause -were — love ! ” 

“And that you loved the tyrant,” suggest- 
ed Cyrilla. 


152 


CYRILLA. 


“That’3 it!” cried Melanie. “You have 
e-eased to love, ceased to care for Edouard, 
just when I supposed you were beginning to 
forgive, and bear your wrongs, with a heroism 
worthy of your father’s daughter! That Ru- 
pert has been the «ne chosen . . . 

“ I suppose.” said Cyrilla, interrupting her, 
while a slight blush passed across her fea- 
tures, “ 1 suppose you consider that worthy 
of my mother's daughter? Be it so. I have 
seen my error, and repent it. I wish Edou- 
ard no evil, not even the punishment of re- 
gret for what he has done. And had I con- 
tinued indifferent to all others, it is very pos- 
sible my resignation might have assumed the 
appearance of heroism, and been much ad- 
mired by you ; for I confess,” . she added, 
rising, and averting her face from her sister, 
“ I have only become aware of all the horrors 
of my position since I have considered it my 
duty to combat and conceal the increasing 
interest and regard I feel for Rupert.” 

While still speaking, Rupert himself was 
announced, and immediately afterwards en- 
tered the room. 

“I say, Melanie, what did you mean by 
sending me word you would drive out to 
Freilands with the President, instead of 
spending the day there as yoiupromised me ? 
1 supposed you must have had some very im- 
portant engagement^ and here I find you 
sitting as unconcernedly as if you had not 
disappointed me in the most outrageous man- 
ner.” 

“ If the loss of our society for a few hours 
be such a disappointment,” said Melanie, 
smiling, “ what will you call the certainty of 
enjoying it permanently for a whole month? 
The continuance of the fine weather has over- 
come all Wilhelm’s scruples, and you have 
only to let us know when your leave of ab- 
sence commences, and we remove to Frei- 
lands.” 

“Let me write about it this very moment,” 
cried Rupert, beginning to draw the writing 
materials towards him. “ I must confess it 
is rather unreasonable asking for leave so 
soon again, but it will not be refused, as it is 
pretty generally known that I shall leave al- 
together in a few months.” 

“Have you quite resolved on doing so? ” 
isked Melanie. 

“Quite; Cyrilla wishes it,” he answered, 
beginning to write. 

A short pantomime was now performed 
behind his chair. Melanie seemed disposed 
to give Cyrilla an opportunity of explaining, 
which the latter declined with piteous looks 
and shakes of the head ; and, when the letter 
was put in an envelope and sealed, they both 
agreed, without hesitation, to go at once With 
him to Freilands. 

“ Your coming so soon to stay with me will 
be a pleasant surprise for Virginie,” observed 
Rupert, as they passed from the pavement of 
the town to the smooth road beyond the for- 
tificati ins. “ The cabbage-garden has begun 
to disagree with little Alphonse, and she ask- 
ed me yesterday to allow her to take him to 
Freilands for a few weeks. I waa of course 
delighted, wondered she had not thought of 
it before, and naturally concluding she meant 


to accompany him, begged she w . Id remove 
there without dela} T . All at once She thought 
it necessary to look prodigiously prudish and 
proper, and said it would be quite impossible 
for her to reside in my house until you were 
established there.” 

“I think she was quite right,” said Cyiilla, 
quickly; “it would have had a very odd ap- 
pearance.” 

“Would it?” said Rupert, laughing ; “I 
thought widows with children might do all 
those sort of things with impunity, and never 
for a moment doubted that she intended to 
go to Freilands with her child. As she is 
now experienced enough to know what she 
may or may not do, I did not feel in the least 
disposed to raise iiny objection to an arrange- 
ment that would make the house look inhab- 
ited, and give me an agreeable companion 
whenever I had time to go there.” 

“ 0, I dare say not ; men seldom have any 
objection to suen arrangements,” said Cyrilla* 
a little petulantly. 

“ When I was very young,” continued Ru- 
pert, “I was rather unnecessarily scrupulous 
in such matters, especially with the Lindeo- 
mar§, perhaps because their father was so 
careless about them, and their mother so sin- 
gularly intriguing. I am very glad she is 
likely to remain at Amboise, where she can 
use her talents in carefully watching the rem- 
nant of property which she hopes her son 
Victor may yet inherit from the old Mar- 
quis.” 

As they passed the gardener’s gate, they 
saw one of Rupert’s fourgons drawn up' be- 
fore it, and a short time after they met one 
of his carriages being driven in the same di-. 
rection. 

“Is that for Virginie?” asked Melanie. 

“Yes, I have promised either to send for 
or take her myself to Freilands every da}’' to 
see Alphonse : she could not bear complete 
separation from him, you know.” 

“But surely,” observed Cyrilla,” Adrienne 
could take her there just as well as you ?” 

“ Bellegarde is no{ particularly obliging 
about his horses — brothers.-in-law seldom 
are,” said Rupert; “it is only cousins and 
friends who allow themselves to be made use 
of in that way.” 

“You allow yourself to be made use of in 
a most remarkable manner,” observed Cy- 
rilla with some pique. 

Rupert shrugged his shoulders and played 
with his whip. 

“Every one,” she continued with height- 
ened colour, “every one agrees in thinking 
that Virginie ought to go to her father-in- 
law, now that he is willing to receive her ; 
the evident interest of her child ought to in- 
duce her, no matter how unwilling she may 
feel to leave her own family, or — Exfort.” 

Rupert turned suddenly round, half-smiled, 
seemed inclined to speak, changed his mind, 
and drove on in silence. 

“I am afraid,” wdiispered Melanie, “ h« 
thinks you a little — jealoms.” 

Cyrilla started, and was about to disclaim, 
when a sudden conviction of the truth of the 
remark flashed across her mind. It v» as but 
too true, for .the first time in her life she was 


CYRILLA. 


ISS 


actually jealous; and what right had she to 
k<s so ? None — less than none — the very idea 
was a mental crime. She leaned back, silent 
ana ashamed, and, on arriving at Freilands, 
endeavoured to escape alone to the lake. Ru- 
pert ran after her, exclaiming, “ Cyrilla, come 
tack, I have something to tell you l” 

“I know what you mean,” she answered, 
when he joined her; “it was an absurd 
weakness on my part pretending not to re- 
member.” 

“So you knew all the time, and I intended 
you to be so surprised ! The President must 
have perfidiously betrayed the trust I placed 
in him ; he was the only one to whom I 
- thought it necessary to explain.” 

“The President! oh, Rupert, how could 
you... ” * 

“ Why you see, he has a better opinion of 
me than I perhaps deserve ; so I did not 
choose him even for a few weeks to believe 
nny of the absurd reports about Madame 
Vinci, which you of course also heard, but 
did not condescend to care about ; however, 
•come with me now, and don’t look as if you 
were annoyed at my having purchased Se- 
lim, and having had him trained for you.” 

“For me! ” 

“ For you, and for no one else.” 

“Dear Rupert — but you know I cannot 
ride !” 

“I flatter myself I can teach you as well 
as any riding-master now — if not, I have 
spent some hours very unprofitably in the 
circus.” 

“ Dearest Rupert, how can I thank you 
sufficiently — I should like so much to learn 
to ride, if you think I have courage — but — I 
cannot accept the horse ; indeed I cannot, it 
would create quite a sensation among our 
friends, and might give rise to all sorts of re- 
ports. ” 

“ I hope we shall care very little about 
that in a short time,” answered Rupert; and 
then he hurried forward to receive a crowd 
of guests who had just arrived. They were 
all in good spirits, and full of expectations of 
pleasure, for a dinner at Freilands was inva- 
riably gay, their host’s happy temper seem- 
ing for the time to reflect itself on all in his 
vicinity. 

The day was warm, and dancing being a 
part of the proposed evening amusements, 
the company preferred lounging about in 
groups under the trees nearest the house, or 
sitting on the balcony, to the usual excur- 
sions in the park. Selim, the beautiful Arab 
intended for Cyrilla, was returning from be- 
ing exercised, just as some officers of Ru- 
pert’s regiment rode up the avenue, and they 
simultaneously drew up to inspect and ad- 
mire him. As Cyrilla and Rupert approach- 
ed, the groom could not resist the tempta- 
tion to exhibit some of the animal’s accom- 
plishments, and then all the company gath- 
ered round them, and Ivlemmhein declared 
it would be capital fun if Adlerkron were to 
represent the Vinci, and favour them with a 
performance. Every one applauded, the 
groom dismounted, and Rupert vaulting into 
ihe saddle, rode into the lawn. 

Nothing could be more perfr *.t than the 


motions of both horse and rider ; but while 
some of the spectators, with folded arms and 
eager glances, followed every gesture, fully 
understanding and appreciating all the nice- 
ties of his horsemanship, there were others, 
whose ignorance on the subject verged on 
that of the assembled young ladies, whose ad- 
miration wavered from the long flowing 
mane of the horse to the bright face and 
shining curls of the rider — from the arched 
neck of the one, to the flexible form of the 
other, unconscious of the training, practice, 
and art necessary to produce motions that 
appeared so natural and easy. Among the 
ignorant, we may place the greater number 
of bureaucratists ; and at their head his ex- 
cellency Count Falkenstein, who, arriving 
during the performance, looked on with the 
rest, scarcely perceiving the instantaneous 
obedience of the noble animal to the almost 
imperceptible signs given him, but greatly 
pleased with the succeeding springs over 
bars and portable gates, and delighted when 
Selim began to draw his legs together, after 
the manner of a chamois on a ledge of rock, 
and then stretch them out to their fullest ex- 
tent; but when he alternately, slowly, and 
majestically raised and extended his forelegs, 
or lifted those on the same side together, 
dancing, as if in the circus, the female part 
of the spectators clapped their hands and ad- 
vanced to pat his neck, play with his mane, 
and kiss his nose ! 

“ I never was a rider,” said the President 
to Rupert, “ and know nothing of the art, 
yet I can imagine it very pleasant having the 
four legs of such an animal at one’s com- 
mand; but,” he added, with a smile, “you 
ought to have had a side-saddle and a cloak 
as drapery, to show how well he can carry a 
lady ! ” 

“Is he intended for a lady?” asked Julie 
de Lindesmar; “perhaps for the future Ba- 
roness Adlerkron? ” 

The President and Rupert looked towards 
Cyrilla, who turned away and pretended not 
to have heard. 

“What Selim’s ultimate, destination may 
be,” observed Rubert, as he alighted, “I 
do not know ; for this summer I have placed 
him at my cousin Cyrilla’s disposition.” 

“0 how I wish I had such a cousin! ’ ex 
claimed Julie; “how I should adore him.’ 

“My cousin only just likes me well enough 
to make use of — my horse,” said Rupert, smil- 
ing; and then turning to Klemmhein and 
Captain Stauffen, he asked them if they felt 
inclined for a game of “chalked gloves.” 

“And may I ask what that may be ? ” in- 
terposed the President; “the name is not 
very suggestive.*' 

“It is a sort of joust which we learned 
from the equestrian troop who have just left 
Exfort,*’ replied Rupert. “The combatants 
run against or chase each other on horseback 
within a limited space ; the dress a dark- 
coloured coat ; the only weapon a well chalk- 
ed chamois glove. To bestow the mark of a 
white hand on the left shoulder of one’s op- 
ponents, and avoid receiving the same one- 
self, must be the aim of three riders — who- 
ever .escapes unmarked, has won ; but we ad- 


m 


C Y RILLA 


judge the prize to whoever manages to avoid 
the mark the longest, as the two who have 
lost naturally make common cause against 
the winner, and very good riding is necessary 
to evade the double pursuit if only for five or 
six minutes. The game amused us greatly 
last week ; but whether or not Klemmhein 
will choose to be chalked before so many 

bright eyes as will now look on I know 

not?’ 

“ I have no objection to take my chance,” 
•aid Klemmhein; “but the enclosure must 
be larger than last time, — I will not manoeu- 
vre in so small a space again.” 

“And I,” interposed Stauffen, “decline 
giving Adlerkron the advantage of such a 
horse as Selim — he must not be better mount- 
ed than we shall be.” 

“All fair,” said Rupert; “Selim did give 
me the victory last time — I will take Dr. 
Faust to-day — have you any objection to 
him?” 

“Decidedly 7 , he is scarcely inferior to Se- 
lim, if it were not for the chance of his get- 
ting impatient and leaping the barriers.” 

“Well, well,” cried Rupert, laughing, “let 
Klemmhein order out the movable fence, and 
give what directions he pleases about the en- 
closure, and do you choose my horse, while 
I go to receive the last of my guests.” 

It was Zorndorff ’s faultless equipage which 
just then appeared in the distance, advanc- 
ing so rapidly that Rupert had but just time 
to reach the portico before it drew up, with 
that suddenness which appears so correct in 
a town, so unnecessary in the country. A 
footman and chasseur sprang to the ground, 
and the latter, in his green braided coat, sil- 
ver belt, cocked hat and waving green fea- 
thers, peered into the carriage after Zorn- 
dorff had descended from it, with an expres- 
sion of grave attention on his wondrously 
bearded countenance, while assisting as much 
as he could the movements of the little lady 
who still remained in it, and who, after the 
removal of the footstool and various air 
cushions, at length made her appearance. 
Magnificently dressed in pink brocaded silk, 
her dark hair confined by bands of costly 
pearls, the paleness of her features ame- 
liorated by the reflection from her own 
dress, and the bright colours that fell on her 
from the large painted glass window which 
lighted the staircase where it branched off to 
the right and left, — her appearance was 
striking, picturesque, almost beautiful; and 
Rupert, in his peculiarly sincere manner, 
without a moment’s hesitation, told her so;' 
she looked back to Zorndorff, who was fol- 
lowing them, and smiled. 

“ Being imprisoned in a carriage with all 
the windows up, on such a day,” he observ- 
ed with a look of weariness, “ may give you 
a becoming flush, but it has almost stifled 
me.” 

. “ I hope,” said Rupert, hurrying her . for- 
ward, “ I hope you are not afraid to venture 
on the balcony ; we intend before dinner to 

ride a game of chalked gloves but it 

will not last long.” 

“Have we mistaken the hour? are we too 
early I 


“By no means — I shall request die Pics, 
dent not to give us more than ten minutes; 
the moment he raises a flag the game will 
end. We shall be enormously flattered if you 
will look at us, even from a window,” he add- 
ed, on perceiving that she went towards the 
end room, usually occupied by Melanie. He 
rolled what he supposed to be the most com- 
fortable chair towards her, murmured a few 
words of apology, and passing through the 
other rooms, was followed to the lawn by all 
those who had previously taken their post in 
the balcony. 

“Margaret, have you any objection to my 
opening the window ? ” asked Zorndorff. 

“ O no, not tlu least,” she answered eager- r 
ly, fearing that the slightest demur might be 
used as an excuse to leave her. He threw it 
wide open, leaned out, and watched the busy 
scene beneath him with an immovable com- 
posure, partly, perhaps, assumed from the 
cousciouness that she was as usual closely 7 
watching him. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Under Klemmhein’s directions a tolerably 
large space was enclosed, and the spectators 
retired to a clump of oaks, and seated them- 
selves on garden chairs, camp-stools, and 
benches ; crowds of servants, under pretence 
of assisting, hurried to and fro. The officers, 
whose arrival had been the incentive to all 
these proceedings, again mounted and took 
up their stations at different parts of the 
barriers; the President advanced, his eyes 
fixed intently on his watch, and followed by 
a servant carrying a folded flag, and at the 
same moment three horses were led forward 
Rupert, Klemmhein, and Stauffen, after ex- 
changing some gestures of mock defiance, 
advanced to meet them ; laughingly, but 
with unusual attention, they examined girths, 
bit, and bridle, drew on their gloves, vaulted 
lightly into their saddles, and extended their 
right hands to be chalked. Rupert could not 
resist the temptation to try his on the shoul- 
der of the groom, who had evidently be- 
stowed a double quantity on his master’s 
glove, with the laudable intention of making 
his victory notorious : nothing could be more 
perfect than the impression of the sprawling 
hand; nothing more exhilarating than the 
shout of laughter that followed. 

The President gave the signal, and they 
all pressed eagerly forward : even in doing 
so, there was something characteristic in 
their manner. Klemmhein wa9 daring and 
thoughtless, Rupert agile and dextrous, Stauf- 
fen steady and wary ; and these qualities 
they exhibited unremittingly as they chased 
each other round the enclosed space, endea- 
vouring to keep close to the fence, where the 
left shoulders were safe from their opponents, 
and their right hands ready to descend 
should opportunity offer. Unceasing were 
the impetuous charges made by Klemmhein 
to obtain this envied position, but Stauffen’a 
horse invariably reared to save his rider 
, from the intended blow : and Rupert not un 


C YRILL A. 


ISA 


frequently threw himself completely on the 
other side of his, and laughed merrily as 
Klemmhein’s hand waved violently and fruit- 
lessly in the air above him. One or two 
narrow escapes at length made Rupert in 
earnest and Stauffen determined ; uncon- 
sciously they made common c^use against 
their impetuous adversary, and after the fol- 
lowing encounter Klemmhein bore the mark 
of defeat on his jacket ; rendered desperate 
by having nothing more to lose, he dashed 
after Stauffen, who, in his endeavours to es- 
cape him, received the dreaded mark from 
Rupert, while passing him in full career. 
From that moment the interest of the spec- 
tators increased visibly ; they pressed to- 
wards the barriers, and unreservedly be- 
stowed all their anxiety on Rupert, who, 
hotly pursued by adversaries who had no- 
thing to fear from him, was obliged to make 
use of all his art and activity to escape ; he 
turned so often and so suddenly, forced his 
horse to such violent springs, that he was for 
some time unapproachable; and at length, 
when hemmed in completely, and just as every 
one supposed all lost, he threw himself flat on 
his back, and once more laughed as the hands 
waved harmlessly over his head. How much 
longer he could have evaded his pursuers it 
ts hard to say ; they were again forcing him 
co perform the most extraordinary manoeu- 
vres, when the President gave the signal to 
unfurl the flag, and declared Rupert victor. 

As they all walked together towards the 
house, discussing what Melanie called their 
modern tournament, Klemmhein observed, 
“You see, Stauffen, the horse makes no dif- 
ference, you might as well have let Adler- 
ki on have had Faust.” 

“I suppose so,” said Stauffen, “he has so 
many different wa} r s of riding that I don’t 
intend to enter the lists with him again, if I 
can help it.” 

“ I must acknowledge,” said the President, 
“that the joust was interesting, very much 
so indeed, and if we had had time, I should 
have had no objection to witness another 
bout. I dare say there are others in this 
far-famed regiment who would have been 
equally willing to exhibit their skill in horse- 
manship.” 

“I don’t think we could easily find three 
more such riders,” observed one of the officers, 
laughing. 

“ It would be better,” said Count Lindes- 
mar, “ and a vast deal more chivalrous, were 
we to put on armour and break a lance, as 
our ancestors did before us. Could not w r e 
get up a tournament or carousal here, and 
send to Windhorst for a cartload of armour.” 

“ I like the idea,” said Rupert, “ and beg 
you will remind me of it some time hence ; 
for the present, I want to engage you all for 
my theatre, which has been fitted up accord- 
ing to Zorndorff’s plan, and is really very 
pretty.” 

The President seemed to dread a discussion 
about the theatre, and not without reason, 
for Rupert was instantly surrounded and 
overwhelmed with questions. 

“ Um a . . . . your chef will not be 

satisfied if you are not punctual,” he observ- 


ed, drawing forth the watch so liatcd by 

Melanie ; ‘ and a I suppose you 

will think it necessary to change your diess, 
and ” 

“I should think so,” replied Rupert^ laugh- 
ing as he sprang up the steps, and entered 
the house with his companions, whose toiletp 
had become disordered. 

The President paced the balcony, his hands 
clasped on his back, and exchanging occa- 
sionally a few words with Melanie and her 
companions. Zorndorff had closed the win- 
dow, out of which his wife now listlessly 
gazed, silent and abstracted, until roused by 
Yirginie’s approaching her, and saying, “I 
have followed the advice of my friends, and 
put aside my mourning.” 

“For friends, read Rupert,” whispered 
Zorndorff; “I suppose he likes red, or pink, 
or whatever the colour of your dress is 
called.” 

“ I don’t know,” she answered in a low 
voice; “but he dislikes black, and why 
should I w T ear it any longer ? I believe he 
prefers white to any colour, a dress like .... 
like that.” she added, pointing to the long 
glass, which it may be remembered had been 
placed by the upholsterer opposite the door- 
way, to prolong the vista of the suite of 
rooms. In it they now saw Cyrilla issuing 
from the corresponding apartment at the 
other side of the house. Rupert w T as beside 
her, and apparently speaking eagerly, for 
his head was bent down, and she seemed to 
listen gravely and attentively, though she 
still continued to walk on through the in- 
tervening rooms : suddenly he stopped, took 
her hand, and endeavoured to place a ring 

on one of her fingers Zorndorff, who had 

retired with Yirginie as much aside as was 
compatible with a view of both figures in the 
glass, now started forward, and uttered a 
smothered exclamation, which attracted his 
wife’s attention ; she followed the direction 
of his eyes, and with him (in the glass) dis- 
tinctly saw Cyril la’s hurried agitated refusal 
of the ring, notwithstanding her cousin’s evi- 
dent expostulations, — saw her also turn 
quickly back into the music-room, w r hile 
Rupert slowly and thoughtfully advanced 
towards those who now began to enter the 
large drawing room from both doors and 
balcony. 

“I wish, Madam,” observed Zorndorff to> 
Yirginie, in a low voice, “I wish for your 
sake he had offered any bauble rather than 
a ring — however, this second refusal must 
be conclusive, I should think.” 

“There is some strange confusion here,” 
said Marga-et, drawing Yirginie toward* 
her; “ we thought it w r as you he preferred.* 

“ I have had no reason to think so,” replied 
Yirginie, turning away. 

“ It is extremely foolish of Cyrilla to re- 
fuse him,” continued Margaret, with unusual 
animation ; “ I wish I knew her well enough 
to tell her so ; but I can speak to our aunt 
Melanie, who ” 

“ I request, Margaret, you will not inter- 
fere in any thing that so little concerns you," 
said Zorndorff, coldly. “ This glass has be- 
trayed a secret which we should certainly 


136 


CYRILLA, 


never have been told ; the less we speak 
about it the better — in fact, we ought to try 
and forget il altogether.” 

" Can you forget it so easily ? ” she asked, 
with more meaning than he quite liked ; and 
as ViYginie left the room, she added, “Do 
you not more than suspect that recollections 
of you have made her act so unwisely ? ” 

“ I leave such surmises to you, Margaret,” 
replied Zorndorff,, turning away to hide the 
flush of consciousness that he felt spreading 
over his countenance. 

“I could pity, if I did not fear her,” said 

Margaret. “ Tell me did she 

love you as I did and do ? ” 

“No, Margaret, she never fainted — or even 
cried for me.” 

“ Then, after all, perhaps it was merely a 

passing admiration on her part But Julie 

says, it was supposed she refused her cousin 
three }'ears ago on your account, and that 

you ” 

“ So,” said Zorndorff, interrupting her, “ so 
you have been making inquiries? ” 

“ But no one seems to know any thing ; 
and it is the mystery that makes me uneasy. 
O. Edouard, if you would only tell me the 
whole truth — everything without reserve! ” 
“It would be a great satisfaction to you,” 
he said, ironically, “ to have some one — or 
some tiling to complain of besides your 
nerves ! What more have I to tell you ? — 
that during the three months that Mademoi- 
selle d’Adlerkron has been in Exfort I have 
spoken to her twice — once in our house, and 
once at my uncle’s ? ” 

“And where will you speak to her for the 
third time ? ” asked Margaret quickly. 

“Here, if opportunity offer,” replied Zorn- 
dorft^ so unhesitatingly, that what she knew 
to be the blunt truthfulness of his answer 
completely confounded her. 

The gay dinner was a painful exertion to 
her — and to Cyrilla. Zorndorff was unusu- 
ally gay ; he even appeared wonderfully 
interested about Rupert’s theatre, and joined 
the President in discussing its capabilities. 
With all the versatility of talent usually 
exhibited by amateur performers, most of 
the company declared their willingness to 
take parts, whether in tragedy, comedy, or 
opera ; in short, it at last became evident 
that, among such histrionic geniuses, sub- 
ordinate characters must be altogether dis- 
pensed with, “if,” as Rupert observed with 
perfectly serious intentions, — “ if it would 
.ot be a famous good plan to get a cargo of 
such understrappers from one of the theatres 
in Berlin ! ” 

In the course of the evening, Rupert made 
several bungling attempts to arrange a tete-a- 
tete between Cyrilla and Zorndorff ; but 
either Julie or Margaret frustrated all his 
efforts, and at last he gave the case up as 
hopeless, and proposed the Polish dance. 
Then it was discovered that Major Arnheim 
having gone to his father to make arrange- 
ments about his marriage, his betrothed had 
■o partner, and it became necessary to press 
Zorndorff into the service. He was absently 
•tudying the frescoes on the ceiling when 


Rupert laconically informed him, that ‘ they 
wanted a man.” 

“Take my uncle, " he answered ; “ in your 
house he always seems to grow twenty years 
younger, and joins in everything that is 
going on.” 

“ lie is \ery good-natured, certainly,” said 
Rupert, “but this dance is quite beyond his 
powers. We all know your indolent pro- 
pensities, and would not bore you if we 
could help it ; but, as we have agreed to let 
you choose your partner, you can scarcely 
refuse, I think.” 

“ 1 suppose not,” said Zorndorff, slow r l} T 
rising. “Will you let me have Made- 

moiselle d’Adlerkron ? ” 

Count Lindesmar, with whom she w as t<r 
have danced, resigned her with some affect- 
ed but a great deal more real reluctance. 

Whatever Zorndorff did he did well : and 
those w f ho supposed he required to lea«rn a 
dance he had two or three times attentively 
observed, w T ere mistaken. But lie had a 
habit of listening with mock attention to 
any one who was disposed to give him in- 
struction, no matter on what subject ; and 
now, with the greatest composure, fixing his 
eyes on Count Lindesmar, let him explain the 
figure and caper before him, while he himself 
neither moved muscle of face nor foot. 

Margaret’s eyes followed every turn, every 
movement ; and when the music ceased, and 
Zorndorff again sat down beside her, and, 
leaning back in his chair, once more began 
the interrupted contemplation of the ceiling, 
she turned to him with a mixture of surprise 
and annoyance, and said, “ I was not aw are 
that dancing w r as one of your accomplish- 
ments j ” 

f It happens to be one of the very few I 
ever acquired,” he replied. 

“You never danced with me.” 

“ I believe we were never together in soci- 
ety until after our marriage, win n peopl 4 
generally cease to dance with each othei. 
In a small circle of this kind, however, that 
should be no impediment ; and if you feel 
in the least inclined just now to join that 
mazurka, I ” 

* You know that was not what I meant,” 
she said, with some irritation. 

Then, what do you mean? ” 

“ O, nothing of any consequence om 

I should like to know what you 

said to Cyrilla. 1 saw your lips move when 
you were dancing You spoke to her.” 

“ Yes. I told her you intended to give a 
ball before you closed your house for the 
summer.” 

“And was that all ? Did you not ask hei 
to dance at it with you ? ’ 

“ No ; for though I could not, without 
rudeness, avoid dancing this evening, I know 
that Arnheim will have returned before your 
ball. He will dance with his fiancee, and 
then Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron wdll natu- 
rally choose either Lindesmar or Adlerkron/ 

And all this was true ; but when Rupert 
found an opportunity soon after To ask Cy- 
rilla, “ When ? where ? ” her answer was — 

“The evening cf the ball. At his own 


0 Y R I L L A . 


House, during the cotillon he will speak to 
me in the library.” 

4. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Contrary to his usual custom, and under 
pretence of wishing to make himself popular, 
.Zorndorff requested that an unusual number 
of invitations should be issued for this last 
ball ; and though Margaret ventured to ob- 
ject, reminded him that their rooms were 
not large enough for so many people ; that a 
crush would be inevitable, and she might 
become ill in consequence ; he persisted", and 
for once their house was as full as the Presi- 
dent’s on those evenings when Zorndorff pro- 
fessed to remain at home in order to facili- 
tate, as far as lay in his power, the respira- 
tion of the suffocating inhabitants of Exfort! 
Many were invited to the Zorndorffs for the 
first time that evening, and they were easily 
distinguished from the habitual guests by 
.the manner in which they examined the 
pictures, marbles, vases, inlaid tables, and 
bronzes. Many were the fruitless efforts 
made to get into the library and adjoining 
breakfast-room; but both apartments were 
locked, and it was whispered that Count 
Zorndorff feared that the passing and repass- 
ing of. the crowd might injure the plants in 
the conservatory. Much as Zorndorff at 
other times was in the habit of considering 
the well-being of these same plants, and 
highly as lie valued many of them, it is 
quite certain that not one thought had been 
bestowed on tjiem by him for many days, 
though the keys of both rooms were just 
then actually in his possession. 

It was observed that the Countess Zorn- 
dorff was equally fantastically and becom- 
ingly dressed on this occasion. Her aea- 
green robe, composed of the most transpa- 
rent material, was so flounced and furbe- 
lowed, that every movement produced a 
light waving of something green, almost 
resembling undulating water, which, added 
to a profusion of water-lilies that seemed to 
float on it, and others that hung pendent 
from her shining hair, gave her altogether 
the appearance of a Naiad. 

The texture of Cyrilla’s dress was similar, 
but it was white, and unrelieved by any 
colour whatever: even the natural flowers, 
and wreaths of ivy, and other parasitic 
plants, for the tasteful arrangement of which 
she had long been remarkable, had been 
altogether avoided. She looked unusually 
pale, and though she danced incessantly dur- 
ing the evening, not the faintest tinge of 
colour passed over her features. As the mu- 
sic of the cotillon began she left the ball- 
room, and found Melanie waiting for her, as 
she had promised, in a room called “The 
Rococo,” from its having an elaborately 
ornamented fireplace, mirrors in curiously 
carved gilt frames, crooked-legged chairs to 
match, and a profusion of fat cupids and 
slender shepherdesses, making themselves 
useful and ornamental in an equally inge- 
nious and wcndoful manner. While Cvril 


m 

la stood with her eyes fixed vacantly on the 
grotesque ornaments of the chimney-piece, 
and shivering, not from cold, but from an 
irrepressible horror of the approaching inter 
view, Zorndorff walked silently through the 
r<om, making a scarcely perceptible sign to 
Melanie to follow. 

“ Cyrilla,” she whispered, “ we may go 
now.” 

“ I know wait a moment Tell me 

did he look cheerful, or or 

earnest ? ” 

“ He looked as pale and anxious as your- 
self, my poor child,” replied Melanie; “but,” 
she added, glancing round her, “let us go 
while we can do so unperceived. These 
people are not observing us now.” 

The locked doors were open, the rooms 
lighted, and Cyrilla walked forward through 
the first with more firmness than her sister 
expected. At the entrance to the library 
she Stopped, and appeared to wait for Mela- 
nie, who, however, with a slight wave of her 
hand, declined to follow, opened a glass- 
door, and seemed half-disposed to escape 
into the garden. 

“Oh, Melanie, you surely will not desert 
me in this distressful moment?” 

“My presence can serve no good pur- 
pose,” answered Melanie ; “ any restraint 
will only serve to irritate Edouard. I know 
the useless appeals that would be made to 
my judgment — know that, without benefit- 
ing either, I should inevitably offend both ; 
a mediatrix, in such cases, is worse than 
useless.” 

“ Tell me, at least, whether or not I ought 
to confess to Edouard that I now prefer some 
one else to him.” 

“You had better not unnecessarily rouse 
his jealousy, but go — do not lose any more 
time — here is the fatal ring he gave you that 
unfortunate morning at Spa — returning it to 
him will bring you at once to the subject 
you must discuss.” 

As Cyrilla reluctantly opened the door, 
and then stood at it gasping rather than 
breathing, Melanie saw that all the doors 
and windows of the library were covered 
with their heavy crimson curtains; — that, on 
• the writing-table, a large lamp burned bright- 
ly, and that Zorndorff was walking up and 
down the room with hurried steps and Add- 
ed arms. He came quickly towards them, 
and having recommended Melanie to lock tin- 
door of the room she was in to prevent in- 
terruption, he closed the one between them, 
and, unperceived by either of the sisters, 
softly turned the key in the lock, and then 
followed Cyrilla to the table, where, extend- 
ing a visibly trembling hand, she endeav- 
oured to deposit the hated seal-ring. Per- 
haps his following her so closely increased 
her agitation — perhaps an indistinctness, 
which seemed to pervade every thing around 
her, prevented her from calculating the dis- 
tance : the ring fell from her hand, and 
bounded like a thing alive along the smooth 
parquet floor. 

“It is of little importance,” murmured 
Zorndorff, as he stooped to pick it up, ana 
slowly and gravely placed it on his finger. 


188 


CYRIL LA. 


Ring or no ring you are mine ; and though 
fully aware what you mean by returning it 
ro me, I cannot help being glad to have it 
again, for I have never known peace of mind 
since I parted with it,” 

“ Nor I,” said Cyrilla, “ since it has been 
in my possession.” 

‘Ywne has this ring had strange influ- 
ence over my destiny,” ho -said thoughtfully. 
“Never will I part with it again with my 
consent ! ” Then opening a drawer of the 
table, and taking a small packet 'from it, he 
added : “ Here are the papers you wished to 
have, and I so willingly resign to you. The 
sooner you make our relation to each other 
known "to the world, the better for me — 
death or insanity must be my portion if my 
present life continue much longer.” 

“Edouard,” said Cyrilla, gently, “it is not 
for these papers T have come to ycu — you 
Know it is nov. I have no desire whatever 
to make known our unfortunate, ill-advised 
marriage. You told Melanie — you have told 
me, that you can have it annulled if you 
choose to do so; and I trust that such is 
your intention, now that there is no longer 
the slightest doubt that Margaret is recover- 
ing her health completely — visibly — daily ! ” 

“Curse liei*;” muttered Zorndorff, between 
his closed teeth. 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” said Cyrilla, earnestly. 
“ Her offence or weakness has been mine too 
— we have both loved you better and trust- 
ed you more than you deserved.” 

Zorndorff began to stride up and down the 
room. Cy 7 rilla advanced a few steps, and 
continued, with ill-suppressed emotion, “Lis- 
ten to me, Edouard ; do not persist in making 
two women wretched. You have publicly 
acknowledged Margaret as your wife for two 
years ; she is lost forever if you desert her 

now ; for me ther£ is still hope ” She 

p>aused, and anxiously watched the expres- 
sion of his face, before she added, “ I might 
forg/et the past and be happy once more, if 
restored to my former freedom of action and 
thought.” 

“ And would not the thoughts be mine as 
much as ever ? ” he asked, with that pathos 
which she had formerly found irresistible. 

Cyrilla shook her head. “No, Edouard, I 
have long taught my”self to think of you as 
the husband of another woman, without an- 
ger, without jealousy.” 

“You say that to try me, Cyrilla; it is 
not, cannot be true.” 

“ It is true ; had it been otherwise, I must 
have died.” 

“ Not when you knew that my affection for 
you continued unabated, increasing rather, 
day by day, from the horrible contrast offer- 
ed me at home.” 

“ I cannot listen to you if you speak in this 
way,” said Cyrilla. “Surely you must feel 
fhat all your professions of regard for me 
aow must sound like mockery. Spare me, 
and do not let us waste in idle discussion 
these precious moments, obtained with such 
difficulty.” * ' 

'Tou are right,” said Zorndorff, with a 
quick glance towards the clock. “ I know 
.lot why I endeavour to evade an explanation 


which is inevitable.” Here he pans* d. and 
looked very earnestly at her, while adding 
slowly, “ Cyrilla, say what you will, I am 
convinced you love me still N’ 

“Pass over that,” she answered hastily; 
“ it is irrelevant.” 

“ By no means, Cyrilla ; to me it is of the 
greatest importance to be assured that such 
is the case.” 

She slowly shook her head, and turned 
away from him in silence more eloquent, than 
words. 

“ Resentful girl ! can all my wretchedness 
and penitence procure no commiseration, no 
pardon from you ? ” 

“Both,” she answered, eagerly; “both to 
the fullest extent, when once relieved from 
this thraldom, that makes me even more un- 
happy than yonrself. Be generous, Edouard, 
and my pardon — I mean my gratitude — my 
— my friendship .” 

“Your friendship,” he repeated, ironically, 
“ and your love you perhaps reserve for 
Lindesmar f ” 

“ Count Lindesmar ! ” said Cyrilla, with a 
look of unfeigned astonishment. 

“ And have you really never observed 
what is so evident to every” one else ? Women 
are generally” clear-sighted enough on such 
occasions.” 

“ I never observed — never thought of him 
at all.” 

“Then,” cried Zorndorff, eagerly”, “you 
can give me the .assurance I desire. Oh, Cy- 
rilla, say that y”ou never have loved — promise 
that y r ou never will love — any” one but me.” 

“ No,” she replied, blushing deeply 7 , “ I will 
not deceive y T ou, or make a promise I cannot 
keep. The wish to love and be loved in re 
turn is too innate a feeling for a woman evei 
to have the power of emancipating herself 
from it.” 

“Enough,” cried Zorndorff. haughtily 
“ we remain then as we are.” 

They were both too eager and too an.\io\ » 
at that moment to hear a rustling noise in 
the adjoining conservatory ; too intensely 
occupied with each other, to perceive a pale 
face with wild dark eyes glaring at them 
through the thick foliage of some tropical 
plants. 

“Then,” said Cyrilla, faintly, “yrnu had 
already resolved not to consent to a di 
vorce ? ” 

“ Consent! ” exclaimed Zorndorif, forcing a 
laugh, “ never ! ” 

“ Oh, what tyranny ! ” she began, clasping 
her hands tightly together; but Zorndorff 
stood so unmoved, that she suddenly 7 remem- 
bered he was callous to angry 7 words and re- 
proaches. After a hard struggle for compo 
sure, she advanced towards him, placed her 
hand on his arm, and said in a low, con- 
strained voice, “ I will forgive, forget all you 
have made me suffer for nearly three years, 
if — if ” she hesitated, and then ex- 

claimed passionately, “Oh, Edouard, y T ou 
surely 7 cannot have the cruelty 7 to intend me 
to drag on the remainder of my life in this 
i state of dreary hopelessness?” 

“No, dearest love,” he cried, drawing her 
towards him with a vehemence she did not 


CYRILLA. 


13 & 


fi&i 3 io resist, vainly hoping that at last he 
was about to relent ; “No! Let us fl } 7 from 
these intolerable endless trials — let us leave 
for ever this country, where nought but 
frustrated plans and disappointed hopes have 
been ou” portion. In America, that land of 
promise to all our suffering countrymen, a 
home already awaits us. I have delayed 
this explanation until all, even the most mi- 
nute, arrangements have been completed. It 
was but yesterday that I sent the last remit- 
tance to Cincinnati, forwarded a large sum 
of money to London, and received the pass- 
port I required from Berlin. Delay will now 
be dangerous in every way, for? should my 
intention to leave Germany be spoken of, 
should anything about this passport trans- 
pire, I shall be compelled to excuse conduct 
so apparently criminal, by a full confession 
of our clandestine marriage at Spa.” 

Cyrilla released herself from him with the 
energy of despair, but all her attempts at 
articulation were ineffectual. 

“ Don’t look so horrified ; have I not a right 
to ask you to follow me to America, Africa, 
anywhere in the world? ” 

She did not answer, but grasped the near- 
est chair, and seemed tc breathe with diffi- 
culty, while an increased paleness overspread 
her features. 

Zorndorff became uneasy. “ Cyrilla — my 

love — for heaven’s sake speak to me.” 

But she only gazed at her tormentor with 
quivering lips. 

“You are alarmed — shocked — ” he contin- 
ued, “ and must have time to consider this 
proposal. Remember I do not ask you to 
commit a crime, I only entreat you to fulfil a 
duty. See, at your feet I entreat — implore 
you to consent — implore, when I might — 
command.” 

Although strongly impressed with the idea 
that she still clung to him w T ith undiminished 
affection, the expression of her face, as she 
struggled to release her hand from his, had 
something so very, like abhorrence, that he 
started up, and some violent explosion of pas- 
sion might have ensued, had she not mur- 
mured the word “ Margaret ” as she turned 
to leave him. 

“Bestow your compassion on me rather 
than on her,” he said, bitterly; “she aided 
and abetted in the most infamous imposition 
that ever was practised on man ! Stay, Cy- 
rilla, and hear all my misery ! ” 

“No — my own portion is enough for me,” 
the answered, sighing deeply ; “ our confer- 
ence is at an end, and I shall never demand 
another. ” 

“Then you must hear me now,” cried 
Zorndorff, vehemently. “ Margaret has im- 
posed on me — deceived me — talked of her 
nerves — pretended somnambulism — all to pre- 
vent my discovering, or even suspecting, the 
real nature of her disease, until it was too 
late. Her physician, too, was in the plot, 
and never even hinted that fits of the most 
' frightful description have been hereditary in 
her family for many generations ! ” 

“Fits!” 

“Epilepsy, and to a degree that admits of 
ao hope •, and she may live, Cyrilla live, like 


most ol her family, long enough to become 
an idiot, and to make ri e a maniac ! 5 

“No, no, no, no — ne\ er — never!” scream- 
ed a voice from the conservatory, and, w r itb 
a harsh, horrid cry of anguish, Margaret 
rushed into the room. The ghastliness of her 
appearance xvas greatly increased by her 
ball-dress with its artificial flowers, and she 
seemed to feel this herself, for she tore the 
lilies from her hair with frantic gesticulations, 
flung them on the ground, and stamped her 
foot upon them. 

Cyrilla thought her mad, and endeavoured 
to move unperceived towards the door; but 
Margaret sprang after her, and wdtli a strength 
that seemed supernatural, held her arm, 

while she gasped out the words, “ He 

that man there, is false, Cyrilla — false — you 
know it as well — no, not so well as I do now 4 
But I loved him — O, so devotedly, that, had 
I known the nature of my illness, I call 
Heaven to witness, had I known it, I should 
never have been his w r ife ! ” 

With passionate gestures, and breathless 
eagerness, she continued rapidly: “At no 
period of our acquaintance did I endeavour 
to deceive him in any wa}\ He knew' that 
I was wretchedly unhealthy — every one 
knew it ; but from a mistaken notion of kind 
ness or consideration, no one ever mentioned 
the w 7 ord epilepsy before me. I now under- 
stand it all ; it was for this reason that my 
father made me promise never to dismiss 
Yica, who has been with me from my infan- 
cy. It was fits of this kind that wore out 
my brother, and brought him to an early 
grave, and it is this which is now to make 
me an idiot!” Here she released Cyrilla’s 
arm, shuddered — and, looking wildly round 
her, advanced a few steps nearer Zorndorff, 
and said, “You love riches and luxury, Ed- 
ouard — they are even dearer to you than 
honour — I w 7 ould not deprive you of them 
if I could — but all I have is yours. Is it not 
so? Was not that the purport of the paper 
I signed a few 7 days after my father’s death ? 
Even that did not enlighten me. I wms an 
idiot, even then, Edouard ; but for the short 
remainder of my life you wdll give me a pit- 
tance to secure me from w T ant, for I — cannot 
work — you know.” 

“Good Heavens, Margaret, what do you 
mean? ” exclaimed Zorndorff, in a voice sti- 
fled by contending emotions. 

“ 1 mean to leave you — for ever. After 
what I have heard this night, what else can 
Ido? Your house is no longer mine; but 
God is merciful, and will provide me a place 
where I may hide my wretchedness from the 
eyes of the world.” 

She w r as evidently in a state of despeiate 
excitement as she pronounced these words, 
and perceptibly staggered while endeavour- 
ing to reach one of the^lass doors that 
opened into the garden. 

“Margaret, where are you going? Listen 
tome. Let me explain — ’’-cried Ztmdorff. 
while he placed himself before her, endeav- 
ouring to prevent her from falling; but, as 
he touched her, she sprang from him, with a 
long loud piercing scream, and throwing her 
arms round Cyrilla, clung to her convulsive 


i40 


C Y R I L L A . 


ly. Melanie, alarmed by the unexpected 
shriek, made violent but ineffectual efforts to 
enter the room. Zorndorff strode towards 
Cyrilht, and casting a look of horror on his 
wife, tried to remove her. She writhed as 
if in agony, breathed quickly, gasped, 
moaned, sobbed, and when at length her 
head was raised, the paleness of death was 
on her features, as they worked in hideous 
convulsions. The rolling of the sightless 
eyes, the audible grinding of the teeth, the 
white foam that gathered round the parted 
lips, shocked Cyrilla beyond measure. She 
had never seen anyone in a similar state; 
and though compassion at first induced her 
to repel ZorndorfFs attempts to relieve her, 
and she tried as well as she could to support 
the suffering woman, who seemed to have 
sought her protection; yet, on perceiving 
that total unconsciousness had commenced, 
she endeavoured to assist him. One hand 
had closed on her arm with a grasp of iron, 
and he gently, yet firmly, drew up one by 
one the convulsed fingers, letting the hand 
close of itself in a manner probably well 
known to him ; but the long emaciated fin- 
gers of the other, on being less carefully, 
though with great difficulty, extricated from 
Cyrilla’s hair, fell on the shoulder nearest 
them, and in a moment the nails were buried 
in the flesh; every effort to remove them 
causing long scratches, from which the blood 
flowed. Cyrilla recoiled, and though no 
sound escaped her lips, she unintentionally 
betrayed some impatience and pain, as, in 
self-defence, she pulled the offending hand. 
Zorndorff became exasperated — furious. lie 
used force — angry force, — dragged back the 
fingers, — and when at last the hand was in 
his, flung it so violently from him, that the 
unhappy woman fell heavily to the ground, 
where the convulsions subsided by degrees 
into a more than deathlike rigidity. 

“I have murdered her,” he said gloomily, 
as lie raised the lifeless form, and placed it 
on a sofa; and while Cyrilla sprang to the 
door to admit Melanie, tears of remorse 
gushed plentifully from his eyes. 

Melanie was more annoyed than surprised 
to find her niece in the room. The scream 
had made known to her the disagreeable in- 
terruption of the important interview ; but 
so unconscious was she that anything more 
than a common attack of epilepsy had taken 
place, that she unlocked the doors, admitted 
fresh air through the windows, rang the bell, 
and felt Margaret’s pulse with perfect com- 
posure. 

“Doctor Hurtig and Vica,”slie said calmly 
to the servant, who instantly appeared. And 
when directly afterwards the latter entered 
the room, she turned to Cyrilla, and scarcely 
looking at her, observed, “We must return 
to the ball-room, it will never do if we are 
aM absent — I hope we have not been missed.” 

And Cyrilla followed her into the sdjoin- 
.ng room in silence; but there, throwing 
herself into the nearest chair, she burst into 
a passion of tears 

It was only then that Melanie perceived 
her sister’s crushed dress, disordered hair, 
W\d bleeding shoulder; she stopped aud 


looked at her with an ex£ ression of amaze- 
ment and inquiry. 

“Margaret overheard — all — ” said Cyrilla; 
but tears choked her utterance, and further 
explanation was then impossible. 



.CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

There are few human beings to whom the 
immediate and complete realization of their 
most ardent wishes would bring unalloyed 
satisfaction. Many may at first feel disposed 
to doubt this — none would have done so 
more unreservedly than Zorndorff, the eve- 
ning of the eventful ball at his own house 
A few, a very few days had passed over, and 
the scarcely concealed desire of his heart 
had been fulfilled. Margaret lay stretched 
on her bed — a corpse — and lie was sole pos- 
sessor of all her wealth! Was he satisfied, 
contented, happy? He did not appear so. 
There was a terrible earnestness in his man- 
ner, as he sat beside the dead, his eyes wan- 
dering from the rigid outline of the lifeless 
form, to the marble-like features which he 
examined, as if their perfect symmetry had 
never struck him until then. Occasionally 
he bent forward, gazed long and anxiously 
into the but half-closed eyes, and then with a 
sort of shudder applied a handkerchief to 
the parted lips, from which some drops of 
blood occasionally trickled. 

****** * 
******* 

The sudden death of the Countess Zorn 
dorff caused an unusual sensation in the 
town of Exfort. Even those whose know- 
ledge of her was limited to having seen her 
languidly reclining in one of her luxurious 
carriages as she passed them in the streets, 
or to having stared at her from some obscure 
corner of the theatre, now eagerly discussed 
her domestic sorrows,' real or supposed — in 
dulged freely in conjectures as to the imme 
diate cause of her death — related circumstan- 
tially all they had ever heard of her or her 
family, and endeavoured to increase the mys- 
tery which had pervaded everything con- 
cerning her by all the means in their power. 
With a large proportion of the population of 
the town, the porter at the President’s house 
rose to an unprecedented degree of impor- 
tance when it became known that Viea and 
her niece were relations of his, that he would 
probably marry the latter, and was perhaps 
already in possession of all the secrets of the 
Zorndorff family! He, however, considering 
his situation of a partly official description, 
thought it incumbent on him to maintain a 
dignified silence on this occasion, and paced 
his room as nearly as possible in the same 
manner as his master did his study, sternly 
unobservant of all attempts at colloquy, and 
giving precisely the same answer to every 
servant who came with compliments, cards 
or condolences, “Her excellency the Frau 
Prcsidentin was tolerably well, but too much 
fatigm d to receive any one.” 

Rupert heard this message being loudly 
and pomoously delivered as lie passed — it 


CYRILLa. 


told him where he was likely to find his 
cousins, and lie walked directly, and without 
being announced, to Melanie’s boudoir. She 
made a motion of silence to him as he en- 
tered, and pointed to Cyrilla, who lay asleep 
on a sofa — her cheeks flushed, her eyelids 
swelled, and a pink streak along her eye- 
brows, showing but too plainly that the 
handkerchief which she held in the hands 
clasped under her head had been placed 
there to receive tears, of which weariness 
alone had caused the cessation. 

Rupert noiselessly disencumbered himself 
of his sabre ; and then drawing a chair close 
to Melanie, he looked towards Cyrilla, and 
asked in a whisper if that was the effect the 
Countess Zorndorff’s death had had on her? 

“She is perfectly inconsolable,” answered 
Melanie in the same manner. 

“I suppose,” he said, after a pause, “I 
suppose she fears that Zorndorff will now 
insist on the fulfilment of her promises to 
him ? ” 

Melanie nodded her head two or three 
times, and then said: “One cannot blame 
him foi doing so.” 

“Will she consent? ” he asked with forced 
composure. 

“I am afraid not.” 

“ Afraid ? ” 

“Why, yes; she must either fulfil her en- 
gagement to him, or — or — in short she cannot 
marry any one else without his consent, and 
of that there is not the slightest chance 
now.” 

“Melanie,” said Rupert, after another and 
longer pause, “if you have in any way used 
your influence in persuading Cyrilla to make 
an agreement of so very questionable a de- 
scription, you have betrayed the confidence 
placed in you by my aunt when she commit- 
ted her to your care, and blighted for ever 
the happiness of those whose interest ought 
to have been nearest to you. Heaven only 
knows where the mischief will end ! ” 

“Rupert,” cried Melanie, quickly, “re- 
member you have promised not to inter- 
fere ” 

“ Unfortunately, I have made a promise to 
that effect; when I did so, it was under the 
impression that Cyrilla would confide in me 
without reserve at the end of a few months, 
and that I should be able to prove her prom- 
ises and fears alike chimerical.” 

Tears stood in Melanie’s upturned eyes as 
she exclaimed: “O, could I have foreseen 
the total extinction of a first love, so replete 
with the freshest feelings of youth, so exu- 
berant on both sides with all that enchains 
the imagination, and ” 

“ Pshaw ! ” cried Rupert impatiently. “ On 
Cyrilla’s side there may have been a good 
deal of natural admiration for a remarkably 
handsome man ; but it was you and your in- 
cessant encomiums of Zorndorff that made her 
fancy she loved him.” 

“ Really, Rupert,” said Melanie, with some 
irritation, “you seem to forget that Edouard 
is qub e as capable of inspiring affection as 
yourself, perhaps even more so, if reports may 
k trusted.” 

“I have not forgotten his celebrity 'n that 


141 

way,” rejoined Rupert ; “ but I am convinced 
that, educated as Cyrilla has been, more than 
common means were used to induce her to 
make a promise whi* h even his marriage with 
another woman could annul. However, she 
has seen her error, has ceased altogether to 
care for him, and I am now resolved that 
she shall not be persuaded by you, or forced 
by him, into a marriage against her incli- 
nations.” 

Rupert unconsciously raised his voice ai 
he pronounced these words. Cyrilla moved, 
looked up, and extended her hand to him. 

“I am afraid I have disturbed you,” he 
said, with unfeigned annoyance. 

“No, for I only intended to sleep an til 
you came. Yesterday, I heard you were on 
guard, and did not expect to see you; but 
to-day I knew you would come here.” 

“Then,” 6aid Rupert, with an appearance 
of cheerfulness he was far from feeling, “ per- 
haps 3 ’ou also know my intention of propos- 
ing your removal to Freilands, either this 
evening or to-morrow morning? ” 

“ Nothing I should like so much,” she cried, 
starting up eagerly ; “let us go.” 

“I have not slept for several nights,” said 
Melanie, “and am too tired to leave home.” 

“ I fear you are offended with me for what 
I said just' now?” observed Rupert, peni- 
tently. 

“No; though hearing the truth is soim- 
times painful enough.” 

“I ought to have waited until you had re- 
covered from your recent fatigue,” he contin- 
ued. “You have been at the ZorndorffV J 
know since the night of the ball, and by all 
accounts must have suffered there from more 
causes than want of rest. People say, she 
was not merely delirious but perfectly mad 
for several hours ; that she called Zorndorff 
a murderer; said he had killed her child, 
and would not allow him to approach her.” 

Cyrilla walked to the window, while Me- 
lanie answered : “I cannot imagine how you 
or any one could have heard that — but it is 
quite true.” 

“ Is it also time that she said she was not 
his wife, and insisted on being carried out of 
his house ? ” asked Rupert, with some curi - 
osity. 

Melanie blushed, while answering with 
some hesitation, “ Y — es, she said that also.” 

“But,” continued Rupert, “the last part of 
her stor} 7 is most probably an invention. De- 
termined that the marvellous should predomi- 
nate even at her deathbed, it is said that her 
madness was dispelled altogether, and in- 
stantly, by merely looking at a ring which 
Zorndorff held-towards her — a seal-ring in no 
way remarkable, but which she examined 
with an attention incomprehensible to those 
around her, and after he had said a few words 
in a low voice, she sent every one out of the 
room, and from that time scarcely spoke to 
or looked at any one but him.” 

“The ring,” said Melanie, “was one she 
had given him when they were betrothed, 
and which she had supposed lost or given 
away by him. Wiser people than Margaret 
attach importance to things of that kind.” 

“I know they do,” said Rupert, “and no 


142 


C Y R I L L A. 


one more than Zorndorff himself. His wife 
was ever a sort of mysterious being, and 
naturally inclined towards everything mys- 
tical — in that respect she suited him per- 
fectly.” 

“In that, but in nothing else! ” ejaculated 
Melanie. 

“ I suppose,” observed Rupert, “ the ring 
led to some satisfactory explanations ? ” 

“Most probably, for though the subject of 
their long conversation is unknown to me, I 
heard Edouard making vows that he can now 
never fulfil, but which served to render her 
last moments happier, as she said repeatedly, 
than any part of her previous life.” 

“ It is better for her that she died,” said 
Rupert, thoughtfully; “for Zorndorff was 
most probably merely yielding to one of those 
fits of remorse to which, like all men of sus- 
ceptible feelings and strong passions, he is so 
subject!” 

“ I believe it was something better than 
that,” said Melanie, “for I am convinced he 
would have given his life to save hers at the 
last ; and she was quite conscious of it too. 
His grief afterwards was frantic, and now he 
will not believe that she is really dead ; says 
that he has seen her in the same state before, 
that it is only asphyxia, or a trance ; and he 
will not allow the slightest preparation for a 
funeral to be made. Is it not dreadful ? ” 

“I think his doubts very natural,” said 
Rupert, “ especially since I heard that an ex- 
clamation of his brought her back to life after 
she was supposed to have expired.” 

“That is not so uncommon a thing as you 
seem to imagine,” rejoined Melanie. “I am, 
however, inclined to think that Margaret’s 
spirit was at the time past recall, and that 
his voice merely brought back the still hov- 
ering soul, perhaps at the very moment of 
separation from the body. A question or two 
might have enabled me to ascertain the truth 
of my conjectures, but Edouard would not al- 
low me to approach or speak to her. For 
the first time in my life, I saw distinctly 
what may be called the shadow of death — it 
was as if a gray cloud had passed between 
her face and the sun, while all around was 
bright with life and light ! ” 

“And you thought of all that while the 
unhappy woman was in the agonies of death ! ” 
exclaimed Rupert. 

“I — I could not help it — I constantly think 
f such things ” 

“And imagine you understand them — but 
you do not, Melanie — such knowledge is too 
wonderful for you or any one, and will never 
be attained. Much as I like you, my dear 
cousin, I sincerely hope that your speculative 
eye may be far distant from my bed of death. 
Let us not further discuss a subject so pain- 
ful as this luckless woman’s last moments. 
I only wanted to ascertain that Zorndorff ’s 
grief was genuine — if it be so, Cyrilla, there 
is hope for us still — do you not think so?” 
ho asked, going to the window where she 
was standing absently gazing at the fountain 
m the court. 

“ No,” she answered, in a subdued tone ; 
“ I may not hope, and dare not deceive you.” 

“We shall have tme enough to talk of our 


hopes and fears a few days hence at Fret 
lands,” suggested Rupert, looking down com- 
passionately on her relaxed features and glis- 
tening eyelashes. 

“Speak now,” said Cyrilla; “I know you 
dislike tears ; mine are exhausted for the 
present, and nothing you may say can mak* 
me more wretched than I am, or,” she mur- 
mured to herself, “ than I deserve to be.” 

“ Dearest love,” cried Rupert, drawing her 
towards him, “ you altogether mistake me — 
I merely intended to say, that I feared the 
death of the Countess Zorndorff would great- 
ly increase our difficulties ; but I still hope 
— may I not hope, Cyrilla ? ” 

She shook her head mournfully. 

He bent down, and whispered, “You will 
not marry him ? ” 

Lettering a stifled sob, she covered her face 
with her hands. 

“ Cyrilla,” lie continued gently, “ I have 
waited more than three months for some ex- 
planation of this mysterious connexion. Not 
alone, as your legitimate protector, but as a 
man who considers himself affianced to you, 
I demand it now. Let it be without reserve 
for both our sakes.” 

“Oh, Melanie, what can I say to him ? ” 
she cried, turning quickly round; but her 
sister, perhaps fearing an appeal of the kind, 
had left the room. 

“ Tell me the true nature of this promise,” 
said Rupert, “ or rather this engagement, for 
such it must be, and of no common kind 
either. When, where, how did it take place ? 
Who was present? Have you signed any 
papers ? ” 

“I have done everything that was weak 
and foolish,” she answered despairingly, “ and 
have only the alternative of being his wife, 
or remaining as I am.” 

“Then he cannot annoy you by openly 
claiming ” 

“ No,” she said, interrupting him, “ that 
trial at least is spared me.” 

“You speak so enigmatically, Cjrilla, that 
I am confirmed in my first supposition of 
there being some misunderstanding on your 
part — some misrepresentation on his.” 

“ O no,” she replied sorrowfully, “ there is 
not, cannot be anything of the kind, I assure 
you.” 

“ I don’t think T can endure this state of 
uncertainty much longer,” said Rupert, a 
little impatiently. “ Cyrilla, you must, allow 
me to interfere now ! ” 

“Not for the universe!” she exclaimed, 
vehemently. “J)eath would be preferable 
to the consequences of your interference! 
Remember your promise, and oh ! Rupert, if 
you ever loved me ” 

“ If I ever loved you 1 ” he repeated re- 
proachfully. “ I tell you I do love you 
dearly, devotedly— not like Zorndorff; for I 

believe if I were certain of bemg able 

to secure your happiness by resigning you 
I — would — do — so.” 

“Then you can, you can,” cried Cyrilla. 
“ Resign and — forgive me.” 

“And that will make you happy? ” 

“As nearly bo as I can ever hope to be.” 

“I did not expect to be taken at my word 


CYR1LLA. 


14S 


when I made the offer,” said Rupert with 
quivering lips; “but I will not retract. You 
are free.” 

“ And you forgive me and will love me 
still?” 

“I fo ?give you ” he be- 

gan, in so cons:rained a voice, that, supposing 
him angry, she clasped her hands, and ex- 
claimed passionately : “ Indeed, indeed, I did 
not intend to deceive you. I had hopes, just 
hopes until now. Oh, Rupert, you are the 
only real friend left me in the world I 


cannot dare not tell you this hateful 

secret but trust me and love me still — 


if you can.” 

* Never for a moment doubt my affection,” 
he replied warmly, “ or suppose that a want 
of trust in you made me wish to know your 
secret. Let us not speak of it again, and I 
shall endeavour to forget that we have ever 
had even a conditional engagement.” 

“And,” said Cyrilla, anxiously, “you will 

be still the same to me but without 

any engagement or thought of the future? 
I know your regard is so unselfish that it can 
bear any test.” 

“You are trying it severely,” said Rupert. 

“ I regret that it is so,” she rejoined, in a 
low voice ; “ but you will continue unchanged 
to me nevertheless — won’t you ? ” 

“Tyrant! ” he said, forcing a smile. “And 
how unconscious of your tyranny! Still, 
there must be some limits put to it, Cyrilla ; 
for, even supposing that I continue to love on 
without a hope of any kind, you must at least 
define how much personal freedom you are 
disposed to grant me.” 

“ I do not understand ” 

“ I wish to know exactly how much I am 
engaged to you ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Cyrilla, turning away 
her head. “ I never considered you bound to 
me in any way.” 

“ But I did, said Rupert ; “ and being so, 
supposed that I had no right to leave the 
army, travel, or make any serious change in 
my mode of life, without consulting you.” 

“ Dear Rupert, you know I have long 
wished that you should leave the army ; and 
as to any change you may propose, I am 
sure ” 

“ Halt ! ” cried Rupert, smiling, “ you are 
unconsciously talking as if we were actually 
betrothed! Suppose now I were to say — 
Cyrilla, you have marred my plans of future 
happiness and usefulness ; but to live on in 
endless hopelessness without any fixed pur- 
pose of any kind is too much against my na- 
ture to be endured, so, when I have left the 
army, and the President can no longer be in- 
duced to remain at Freilands I must 

travel.” 

Cyrilla felt and looked perplexed. 

“You do not object? In fact what could 
l do better ? ” 

“A great many things,” she answered, 
eagerly. “ You have your marsh to drain, 
%ud your village to build — a work of years, 
as you have told me yourself.” 

“But not one that I can accomplish alone ; 
so I have engaged a civil engineer to oversee 
die wo~ks, and have little doubt of being 


able to induce my foirner tutor, the Vicar o; 
Windhorst, to undertake the management oi 
the colony during my absence.” 

“And have you already forgotten the in- 
fant school and children’s hospital we have 
talked so much about ? ” said Cyrilla, re- 
proachfully. 

“ Those plans must be given up for the 
present. Without a woman’s advice and as- 
sistance ......” 

“But,” cried Cyrilla, quickly, “I am quite 
as ready as ever to advise and assist you.” 

“ And for how long ? ” asked Rupert. 
“Can 1 forget that three months hence, in- 
stead of remaining here with me, as I had 
hoped, you will probably go to Aix-la-Chap- 
elle with the President ? Have I not already 
heard of a journey to Milan, and a visit to 
Fernanda? ” 

“But you could go with us. Melanie 
would be delighted, I am sure.” 

“Very possibly; but Fernanda might not 
be equally so, therefore Italy is out of the 
question. When you are at Milan, I may 
perhaps go to Jerusalem.” 

“And why there ? ” 

“In order to see something new. The 
Holy Land and Egypt are fashionable coun- 
tries just now, and have become the usual 
resort of gentlemen in my situation.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that disappointed men travel in 
the East, get a fever at Smyrna, are reported 
dead, and return home cured of their hope- 
less passions ! ” 

Cyrilla turned away from him, observing 
almost indignantly, “ Melanie was right — you 
cannot be serious — love is a mere pastime to 
you!” 

“ It has proved rather a dismal one lately,” 
he answered. 

“Our present painful position,” she con- 
tinued, “is, to say the least, an ill chosen 
subject for jesting.” 

“V^ery,” said Rupert; “I wish you would 
suppose me quite serious, and give me leave 
to travel for three or four years.” 

Cyrilla was silent. 

“ You consent ? ” 

“Not if you allow me to refuse.” 

“ Refuse, by all means ; it will prove 
clearly and at once that this plan of yours 
will never answer for. either of us.” 

“ Oh yes it will. Let me persuade Melanie 
to give up the journey to Italy, and we can 
all remain at Exfort for the winter ; but, per- 
haps,” she added, hesitatingly, “ perhaps you 
will consider this too great a sacrifice.” 

“ I am afraid I must confess that it is none 
at all,” answered Rupert, smiling ; “ parting 
from you on any terms would have been in- 
tolerably painful to me, and, as you say, I 
have employment enough and of all kind* 
here. A good many of my buildings will be 
roofed before Christmas, and the workmen 
can get on with the interiors during the cold 
weather. I shall have the society to which J 
have been accustomed too, as my regiment 
will still be quartered at Exfort. The shoot- 
ing at Freilands is excellent, and there must 
be famous skating on the lake in January ! * 

Cyrilla sighed deeply; she saw that a*i 


144 


C Y R I L L A . 


effort would be made to banish her from his 
thoughts, and feared that the diversity of 
occupations might soon enable him to dispense 
with her society altogether. “It seems,” 
Bhe observed, after a pause, “ you rather en- 
joy the idea of a continuation of your gar^on 
life?” 

“It was not what I wished or intended,” 
said Rupert, “but you command, and I obey. 
By the by, how long is this singular compact 
of loving indefinitely to continue ? ” 

“ On my part — for ever,” replied Cyrilla, 
gravely. 

“That is long,” said Rupert, eoually seri- 
ous. “Suppose," however, in consideration of 
our mortality, we were to name a time — say 
a score of years ? ” 

“As you please,” she answered, with diffi- 
culty restraining her tears at what she sup- 
posed the sarcasm of his words. 

“ At the end of twenty years,” continued 
Rupert^ “ we shall have arrived at what the 
French politely call un age mur. Do you not 
think it possible that before that time Zorn- 
lorff may voluntarily release you from vows 
the fulfilment of which he cannot enforce ? ” 

“Perhaps so,” she answered, thoughtfully; 
“ Melanie seemed to think, foom xvhat she 
overheard him say to Margaret, that had 
she lived all would have ended well It was 
my last hope — could he have satisfied her , 

I should have had nothing more to desire.” 

“ Another enigma ! ” said Rupert, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, but his sanguine tempera- 
ment grasping instantly at even a shadow of 
ho;>e, he added, “Let us see what the next 
three months will bring us; and in the mean 
time, l promise to love you still with all my 
heart and soul. Your so earnestly requesting 
me to do so is the strongest proof you could 
nave given me that the engagement between 
you and Zorndorff is of a less serious nature 
than you have lately led me to suppose.” 

Unconscious of the overwhelming reproach 
contained in his last words, Rupert turned 
towards Melanie, who just then appeared at 
the door, and began to upbraid her for having 
made her escape just when they most wanted 
her. 

Cyrilla’s marriage had been of so dreamlike 
a description, that, though forced by circum- 
stances to feel the legal importance of the act, 
the moral obligations had been very nearly 
forgotten in the anger caused by Zorndorff *s 
desertion, and the scorn produced by the 
baseness of his motives.' Some doubts of 
having a right to bestow her heart on her 
kind-hearted cousin had, it is true, occasion- 
ally disturbed her peace of mind, but the fal- 
lacious hopes continually held out to her by 
Zorndorff had removed her scruples as fast 
as they rose. Rupert’s last words to her 
were kke a flash of lightning, showing the 
precipice on which she stood, but throwing 
no light on the path that would lead her 
from it. 

Let not those to whom trials of a some- 
what similar nature ire unknown, condemn 
her ; still less those who, surrounded by all 
that ought to keep their regard fixed on the 
man to whom they have pledged their faith, 
nevertheless err mentally as Cyrilla did ! The 


worthiest of the latter could not condemm 
themselves more instantaneously’ and com- 
pletely than the unhappy victim of Zorn- 
dorff s villany, as she now stood Reside her 
cousin ; his low eager conversation with her 
sister unheeded, and even the constant repe- 
tition of her own name failing to attract her 
attention, until Melanie, taking her hand, 
appealed to her in words that seemed to hiss 
in her ears : “ Cyrilla, for Heaven’s sake con- 
sider what you are doing 1 A compact of 
this kind is now actual madness — think of 
the jealousy, hatred, ungovernable anger 
that you will provoke — remember what the 
consequences may be to us all I ” 

Rupert, who was about to leave the room, 
paused, looked back, and watched Cyrilla’s 
changing colour with anxiety. 

“ Stay, Rupert,” she faltered, “ stay — 
listen to Melanie — she is right — you were 
right — it cannot be ” 

“ Had Margaret lived,” continued Melanie, 
fully aware that then or never would it be 
possible to break an agreement so fraught 
with danger to them all, “ had Margaret 
lived, it might have been otherwise ; but 
now Edouard is free, and, as soon as propriety 
permits, will undoubtedly endeavour to re- 
pair the error which a combination of un- 
toward circumstances forced him to com- 
mit.” 

Cyrilla’s eyes flashed. “ Melanie, you try 
my temper beyond endurance by speaking 
in this manner,” she said, indignantly. “An 
error do you call such unprincipled selfish- 
ness — suen ” 

Rupert advanced quickly towards her. 
Cyrilla paused a moment, and then added, 
rapidly, “ The past cannot be remedied, th* 
future is still partly mine, and the proposal, 
which as a matter of course he will make a 
few months hence, I shall refuse without one 
moment’s hesitation. You will oblige me by 
telling him so, should he consult you.” 

“ I shall do no such thing. Dear Cyrilla, 
think of what you are saying.” 

“ Oh, I have thought enough and suffered 
enough too. His conduct has been so dea 
picable, his motives have been so sordid, that 
I scarcely know whether I* most scorn or 
abhor him ! ” 

“ I did not think her capable of such vio- 
lence,” said Melanie, turning to Rupert, who 
was listening attentively to every word, and 
watching every movement. 

“She is an Adlerkron, and eloquent in 
anger,” he observed, unable to conceal the 
pleasure which her last words gave him,, 
“but it will not last long — see, it is past 
already.” 

It seemed to be so. The whole expression 
of Cyrilla’s countenance changed as she turn 
ed to Rupert ; and, laying her hand on his 
arm, said, slowly and with evident effort, “It 
was wrong — selfish, of me to wish to bind 
you in any way. I have no right to control 

you no claim to your regard beyond 

what is due to me — as your cousin.” 

“ But I give you a right, and admit that 
claim, and all others, too,” he said, putting 
his arm round her. “ I am yours to dispose 
of as you please. There is no sacrifice I mb* 


C TRILL A. 


not read}' to make if it in any way promote 
your happiness. Do you believe me ? ” 

As she looked up to him, tears fell from 
his eyes upon her forehead, and the words 
she was about to utter were stifled in a pas- 
sionate burst of grief. 

“There now,” he said, endeavouring to 
speak in his usual cheerful manner ; “ don’t 
try about it any more. Never think of me 
at all, but do and say whatever you like 
from this time forward; I shall have no 
right to complain after having given you full 
power to tyrannize to any extent you may 
think proper.” 

“ Oh, Rupert from my tyranny 

you have nothing more to fear I am 

not likely ever again to forget my unfortu- 
nate ” 

“I wish you would forget it, and let me 
see you cheerful and happy again,” he said 
quickly, as he gathered up his warlike accou- 
trements, and hurried out of the room. 

“ Would that he were less sensible, and 
had more sensibility!” ejaculated Melanie, 
a a she drew her handkerchief across her eyes. 

“ Even when acting magnanimously — no- 
bly — he spoils all by speaking commonly and 
jocosely. What perversion ! ” 

“Rather say — What perfection!” cried 
Cyrilla, warmly. “Can you not perceive 
that his motives for so doing are to diminish 
the sense of obligation? How differently 
would he act were he in Edouard’s place ! — : 
What do I say? He never could have been in 
such a position: the first dereliction from 
the right path would have been impossible to 
one so honourable.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Melanie ; “ but, in 

charity, bestow some pity on Edouard now 
— he is suffering beyond all you can ima- 
gine.” 

“ He has cause, ” murmured Cyrilla, 
thoughtfully. 

“ You blame him for his wife’s death, 
I know,” continued Melanie, “ but unjustly. 
As you saw her that night, I have seen her 
repeatedly in the course of a single day. It 
is better that she died ; no efforts of his 
could ever have made life other than a bur- 
den to her.” 

“There are few lives,” said Cyrilla, “could 
they be minutely foreseen, to which an early 
death would not be preferable, especially 
when we reflect that those who die young 
ever leave an image of }’outh, and beauty, 
and supposed excellence, on the mind of the 
survivors.” 

“ I believe you are right,” said Melanie. 
“ One thing is certain, that the older we grow 
the more unwilling we are to leave this world. 
When a child, death had no terrors ; fears 
during illness were unknown to me ; at a 
later period, I rather enjoyed a dangerous 
illness, as it enabled rne to see the strength 
flf my father’s affection ; a time followed 
when I would willingly have died — v T hen, 
my fondest hopes blighted, and compelled by 
circumstances to marry a man of whom I felt 
an unconquerable dread — life had lost all 
charms for me! Yet by degrees I became 
accustomed to the comfortable monotony of 
my destiny, — and now .... now that the 

10 


14b 

most desirable period of my womans exist- 
ence is past — now I begin to value life for 
itself, feel alarmed at illness, think of death 
as a terrible necessity, and can even imagine 
that clinging to this world experienced by 
the aged, often most strongly w r hen nothing 
but vitality remains of all that had made life 
a blessing.” 

At this moment the President’s heavy step 
was heard approaching through the adjoin- 
ing rooms, and Melanie suddenly stopped 
with a shrinking motion and raising of the 
shoulders, a habit which she had acquired to 
hide embarrassment, but which eminently 
served to betray it. Cyrilla drew a piece 
of work towards her, over which she bent 
to hide the traces of recent grief. Useless 
care ; the drooping mouth and crimson lips, 
the brimful eyelids, ready to overflow when 
they could do so unperceived, the listless at- 
titude, — all became evident at a glance to a 
man who had his own reasons for watching 
the effect that his niece’s death would pro- 
duce upon her. He was surprised — perplex- 
ed ; and his scrutinizing eyes still rested on 
her -while he addressed his wife. 

“Melanie, you have more influence than 
most people with Edouard, — go to him, and, 
if possible, induce him to consent to his wife’s 
interment. Every physician within twenty 
miles round Exfort has pronounced her dead. 
The symptoms which have given him the 
idea that she still lives are by no means so 
uncommon as he supposes ; and a continu- 
ance of his present state of excitement may 
seriously affect his health, if not his mind.” 

“But,” said Melanie, hesitatingly, “would 
it not be better to wait until there is some 
outward sign of decay ? The idea of any one 
being buried alive is the most horrible ima- 
ginable ! ” 

“Undoubtedly,” rejoined the President, 
“ and it is the duty of the survivors to take 
every possible precaution. About an hour 
ago, I tried to persuade Edouard to consent 
to an incision being made in Margaret’s foot, 
hoping by that means to convince him of her 
decease, but . . . .” 

“That would not satisfy me,” cried Me- 
lanie, interrupting him ; “ I read lately an ac- 
count of the exhumation of skeletons in an 
old churchyard, and it was discovered that a 
considerable number of them were turned 
upon their faces, which proved that the mis- 
erable beings had recovered sufficient con- 
sciousness to make a struggle for life . . . . O, 
Wilhelm, I wish you would promise to have 
some mortal wound inflicted on my body be- 
fore you consign it to the grave ! ” 

“ Rather let me exact such a promise from 
you,” said the President, smiling ; “ I am fiye- 
and-twenty years your senior, and in the 
course of nature ” 

“Promise,” cried Melanie, eagerly. “You 
do not like speaking of death, and I may not 
again have an opportunity of making the re- 
quest.” 

Cyrilla looked up ; she expected some 
ironical remark ; but her brother in-law ap- 
peared grave and thoughtful, as he answer- 
ed : “I promise it ; and should you survive 
me, do the same. Try now your powers of 


146 


CYRILLA 


persuasion to the same effect on Edouard, 
about whom I feel extremely uneasy.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

The remains of the Countess Zorndorff, after 
having formed the solo topic of conversation in 
Exfort for several days, were at length con- 
signed to the grave and consequent forgetful- 
ness. The President, Melanie, and Cyril la 
removed to Freilands, and the Bellegardes to 
their immediate vicinity; the bourgeois pro- 
prietor of a large white-faced house, called 
Neuhof, having been induced for a consideration 
to place mansion, meadows, and young plan- 
tations at their disposition for the summer 
months. Openly avowing that the neighbour- 
hood of Freilands, and no rural or rustic incli- 
nations, had induced them to occupy this 
abode, they directly after their establishment 
there requested Rupert to have a gate made 
in the high wooden fence which separated 
them from his deer park, and a well-gravelled 
walk from it to his house. 

Virginie was the only person not quite satis- 
fied with these arrangements ; she felt that 
she had no plausible excuse for remaining any 
longer at Freilands, and prepared to leave 
with a degree of ' reluctance that astonished 
Melanie and provoked Cyrilla. Rupert, how- 
ever, no sooner perceived it than he began to 
urge her to remain with them, observing that 
“ the rehearsals would soon begin at their little 
theatre, when it would be necessary for them 
to be together every day; that if obliged to 
make appointments with her he was quite sure 
he should never keep them, although they had 
so many duets to study ; that Alphonse’s com- 
fort and health were worth her consideration, 
and it would be just as well that the little fel- 
low should not be cuffed and teased by the 
Bellegarde children until lie was stronger ; and 
then he appealed to Melanie and Cyrilla for 
corroboration. The former said what she 
imagined necessary to satisfy him, the latter 
was perfectly silent ; yet Virginie, still pretend- 
ing to hesitate, allowed Rupert to urge, reason 
with, and laugh at her for a very considerable 
length of time before she consented, contriving 
to do so at last, as if conferring the greatest 
possible favour on him. 

“ It is much better that she stay with us,” 
said Rupert, addressing Cyrilla after Virginie 
had left them ; “ I should have been preciously 
inconvenienced by rehearsals at stated hours 
every day. I wish I could get off alto- 
gether now, as your refusal of - this part has 
spoiled, as far as I am personally concerned, 
all the pleasure I expected from these theatri- 
cals.” 

“ I hope not,” replied Cyrilla, with some em- 
barrassment; yet she found it impossible to 
repress a feeling of satisfaction that it was so. 
Considering it her duty henceforward to avoid 
everything that would bring her in immediate 
contact or communication with Rupert, she had 
declined tLe part assigned her in the opera 
about to be performed ; and this her first effort 
had caused her a mixture of pain, irritation, 
and <egret, that she found hard to endure with 


patience. It was at least a sort of consolation 
to her that Rupert openly avowed his disap- 
pointment ; and for the twentieth time she lis- 
tened to his covert reproaches with pleasure, 
vainly endeavouring to repress the feeling, anc* 
proviug her sense of its selfishness by the effort 
to conceal it. 

“ J doubt Cyrilla’s being able to play that 
part as well as Virginie,” observed Melanie 
“ All the Liudesmars are perfect actresses.” 

“ I know they are. I have often played 
with them, and have no objections to do so 
again ; but it was the rehearsals and practis- 

ings with Cyrilla that However, there is 

no use in talking about it any more. One sub- 
ject of mutual interest — one means of enjoying 
her society without interruption for some hours 
every day — is still left, and shall be put in 
practice this very present time. Cyrilla, you 
shall have your first lesson in riding to-day ! ” 

She acquiesced, and left the room to put on 
her habit. 

While Rupert gave the necessary directions 
and afterwards, with a sort of pleased impa 
tience, waited for her appearance, he little sus 
pected that he was putting not only her forti 
tude, but her affection, to the severest test 
Essentially timid, the vague wish to learn to 
ride, which she had expressed one evening in 
the Circus, faded before the dreaded reality of 
trusting herself to a powerful, spirited animal, 
accustomed to the practised steady hand of a 
perfect rider. But what could she do ? Rupert 
had purchased the horse for her ; had taken 
the trouble himself to learn from Madame Vinci 
how to instruct her ; and, in the innocence of 
her heart, she estimated this latter effort of 
kindness higher than it perhaps justly deserv- 
ed. After having refused to take a part in his 
favourite opera, and every day finding some 
excuse to avoid going with him to his marsh, 
could she decline riding, which he evidently 
desired more than anything else ? No — ride 
she must ; and lie should never know that she 
was afraid ! With a trepidation, which her 
maid mistook for eagerness, she dressed ; and, 
hurrying through the hall, stood beside Ru- 
pert, looking very pale and very pretty, — her 
slight .figure appearing still slighter from the 
dark coloured, closely-fitting habit, and the ab- 
sence of tlidse starched under-garments which, 
flounced and furbelowed, usually give such 
amazing amplitude to the “ female form di- 
vine.” 

Two grooms stood at Selim's head ; a third 
caressed him in the most flattering manner, in 
order to induce him to remain perfectly quiet 
while Cyrilla learned to mount. She listened 
with great attention to her cousin’s directions, 
but her thoughts were too confused to under- 
stand them, and she consequently fell back 
repeatedly on his shoulder in a way that rather 
surprised yet did not displease him in the 
least. He laughed a little ; and then, angry 
with herself for exhibiting so much awkward- 
ness, she made a violent spring, slipped on the 
saddle, and disappeared altogether at the other 
side of the horse. It was then Rupert’s turn 
to feel alarmed ; and he became so to a degree 
by no means uncommon in such circumstances. 
He raised her to the saddle, and held her there, 
while Selim was being led very carefully back 


C YRILL A. 


141 


wards and forwards before the house ; his own 
fear of an accident preventing him from ob- 
serving the raised shoulders, stooping form, 
and pallid parted lips of the trembling eques- 
trian. 

A good rider from his earliest youth, and 
dauntless if not daring by nature, Rupert could 
form no idea of the tortures of timidity as far 
as his own person was concerned : for the first 
time in his life he was destined to feel them for 
Cyrilla. Every curvet of Selim’s, and they 
were not a few, made him throw his arm around 
her, and stammer in the explanations he was 
giving about the curb, which, in all the uncon- 
sciousness of perfect ignorance, she pulled and 
twisted in a barbarous manner. Perceiving at 
length his anxiety, her self-possession returned, 
and with it a certain proportion of courage ; so 
that when Melanie appeared on the balcony, 
she began to sit upright ; and a distant view 
of Virginie w r as sufficient to make her whisper 
to Rupert that, “ if he mounted, she thought 
she could now get on famously.” He did so ; 
and, preceded by one groom, followed by ano- 
ther, and with his hand on Selim’s bridle, they 
moved slowly and cautiously down the lime- 
tree avenue towards the forest. 

The balcony was crowded with visiters, the 
President standing in the portico beneath, when 
Cyrilla gaily cantered up to the door on her 
return home. 

“ Why, this is an astonishing beginning ! ” 
cried the President, advancing to assist her to 
dismount. “ I did not expect to see you ride in 
that way for six weeks at least, and should not 
have been surprised had a single trial sufficed 
to disgust you with such rough exercise. One 
never knows,” he added, turning to Rupert, 
u what these women can do until they are 
tried ! You look infinitely more heated and 
tired than she does.” 

“ I daresay,” said Rupert, laughing, “ for I 
have been suffering every possible gradation, 
from uneasiness to actual fear. Prepared to 
find Cyrilla rather timid than otherwise, she 
absolutely terrified me by her recklessness ! ” 

And this was perfectly true. Surprised and 
pleased at Rupert’s anxiety and excessive care 
of her, Cyrilla first wished to reassure, then to 
astonish him. - A lurking desire to^btain some 
of the same kind of admiration which he had 
bestowed so unreservedly on Madame Vinci 
succeeded ; and for this purpose she feigned, 
then to her infinite amazement actually felt, a 
temerity foreign to her character, and was with 
difficulty prevented from turning into one of 
the reclaimed fields near the marsh, in order 
to leap the drains ! Let it not be supposed 
that, with all the facility of a heroine of ro- 
mance, Cyrilla had learned to ride in the course 
of a couple of hours. Such was by no means 
the case. On the contrary, there was all the 
unsteadiness of a beginner in movement and 
posture. She was frequently thrown wildly 
about on her saddle, sat considerably to the left 
side, made most unnecessary use of her stirrup, 
and was altogether as awkward as any one so 
naturally graceful could be ; nor, though she 
succeeded in concealing her fears, were they 
by any means completely subdued. There 
were times when she expected that Selim’s 
text spring would cast her to the ground ; 


others, when a slightly boundirg gallop de- 
prived her of breath, and gave her a sensation 
of being on the edge of a precipice. Yet even 
then she urged him forward, dashing on with a 
heedlessness that might have passed for cour- 
age, had it not too strongly resembled temerity. 
Such Rupert evidently considered it; but the 
more he attempted to restrain, the more rash 
she became ; and at length he rode on beside 
her in a state of excitement little inferior to 
her own, and with precisely the same indefi- 
nite dread of some dangerous accident in per- 
spective. 

But . nothing of the kind occurred either that 
day or any of the following, and then Rupert’s 
cautions and fears changed into encouragements 
and openly expressed approbation. Cyrilla 
was soon a graceful and intrepid rider; any 
qualms of timidity which may have assailed 
her were so successfully checked, so perfectly 
controlled, that they remained undiscovered, 
and at last they ceased altogether, were com- 
pletely absorbed, as any feeling may be by 
another and stronger ; for these rides soon be- 
came the only means of undisturbed inter- 
course, the last remaining bond of union, be- 
tween her and that cousin whose attentions 
she had herself forbidden, and who was now 
from circumstances obliged to obey her com- 
mands more literally than she liked, or ever 
perhaps intended. 

Rupert’s mornings were claimed unreserv- 
edly by his steward, the civil engineer, and 
numerous workmen employed in draining the 
marsh ; latterly also still more by an architect 
who was inspecting the building of model 
cottages, a church, and school-house for the 
already populous village, the inhabitants oi 
which, still living in temporary huts so little 
calculated for winter use, that buildings and 
buildete had become of immense importance ; 
and Rupert’s mind was soon so occupied and 
interested on such subjects, that not only morn- 
ing hours, but even after riding with Cyrilla in 
the afternoon, he might be seen day after day 
rushing down to the lake, on which soon aftei 
a long narrow boat became visible, gliding 
swiftly in the direction of the river. Cyrilla 
sighed — Virginie frowned, bit her lip, tapped 
with her foot, exhibited every symptom of 
ladylike impatience imaginable, then generally 
sent for her child, and went off to her sister at 
Neuhof, where, vexed and dispirited, she com- 
plained incessantly of Rupert’s continued in- 
difference. Adrienne listened at first with in- 
terest and sympathy, but at length got tired ; 
and one day, with an impatient shrug of her 
shoulders, observed that “ she had foreseen and 
foretold that it would be so — Rupert never 
had been, nevfer would be, capable of the de- 
votion to be found in other men — that il 
Virginie were married to him to-morrow, 
she would discover the day after that his cop- 
per mines, woods, plantations, moors, his regi 
ment, or even a shooting-match, would all 
supersede her in his thoughts.” 

“ No,” persisted Virginie ; “ I am convinced 
that, if once married, fiis wife would be his 
first object — that she would be the most for- 
tunate of women ! ” 

“O, I have no doubt he would be good-ns 
tured and generous,” rejoined A drienne, “ worn 


1 


C YE 1 1 LA. 


US 


pay long bills without looking at or wonder- 
ing about them. I admit he is altogether so 
desirable that I should encourage you to per- 
severe if I did not consider the case quite hope- 
less. Now Henri thinks it would be better, all 
things considered, if you could make up your 
mind about General Kersdorff — he is not young 
or handsome, but ” 

* Don’t speak of him,” cried Virginie, impa- 
tiently. “ You know I only tolerate him when 
I am trying to make Rupert jealous.” 

“ Rupert jealous ! What an idea ! Really, 
Virginie, for a clever woman you are wonder- 
fully dull on some subjects. Why, scarcely a 
day passes in the course of which you do not 
in some way or other let him know how com- 
pletely devoted to him you are, and theu you 
expect him to be jealous ! ” 

“ I assure you,” cried Virginie, quickly, “ I 
have not once, since I have been at Frielands, 
said a word that ” 

“ Say ! Of course not. What can a woman 
say? but your looks and manners express more 
than many words; and Henri is greatly amused 
at the quiet way iu which Rupert receives the 
incense you offer him.” 

“ Henri is always unkind iu his observations, 
merciless in his judgment of me.” 

“ He thinks you are very deep, and says 
1 cannot fathom you.” 

A slightly ironical smile played round Vir- 
giuie’s lips at this remark, the justness of which 
she felt s© completely, that she suddenly be- 
came desirous of knowing more of her brother- 
in law’s opinions. “ I suppose,” she said, after 
a pause, “ I suppose he disapproved of my re- 
maining at Frielands after you came here ? ” 

“ He thought it a strong measure, and hoped 
you would manage with your usual tact ; for 
he more than suspected that not only Cyrilla, 
but even dear Melanie herself, when not actu- 
ally writing verses, perceived your 

your . . . .” 

“My what?” 

“ Your manoeuvres.” 

“ You may tell him, Adrienne, that had he 
been less disagreeable to me I should have 
returned to his house — that, instead of ma- 
noeuvring, as he supposes, I have been quite 
explicit with Rupert, who knows perfectly well 
that Henri and I disagree, and almost dislike 
each other. Impropriety there w r as none in 
my remaining at Frielands, when Melanie her- 
self said ” 

“ 0, as to that,” cried Madame de Rellegarde, 
carelessly ; “ I must say I think all scruples 
about Rupert’s house, or Rupert’s self, ex- 
tremely ridiculous as for as we are concerned ; 
but Henri never can be made to understand 
the nature of an intimacy commenced in child- 
hood, and continued without intermission through 
life. Such intimacies have their advantages 
no doubt, but also their disadvantages. Only 
imagine Rupert taking me aside yesterday 
evening, and telling me I ought to send Hor- 
tense to school ; that she would be completely 
spoiled if I kept her at home ; and w T as al- 
ready an astounding coquette for her years ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” 

* Fact, I assure you. I was dreadfully of- 
fended at first, for though Rupert did not in 
direct words say it, I could perceive that he a 


considered my example and a .... all that 

sort of thing you know but afterwards I 

was obliged to laugh when he produced an exe- 
crably written French note from her, in which 
she proposed a rendezvous with him at the 
Deer- Park gate ; she wished so much that he 
would row her on the lake ! Did you ever hear 
any thing so amusing ? ” 

“You consider this matte* too lightly,” ob- # 
served Virgiuie, slightly contracting her brows* 

‘ Why that is only half the affair, and, as- 
Rupert said, would have appeared quite natu- 
ral, and made no impression whatever on him, 
had she not previously, with great mystery, 
and some real or affected embarrassment, be- 
stowed on him an ell or two of red ribbon, and 
a lock of her hair! It seems he returned 
these precious gifts, and probably lectured 
her ” 

“As she deserved, I hope,” cried Virginie, 
severely. 

“ Perhaps more — for, after crying profusely 
for some time, she told him, in excuse or justi- 
fication, I really do not remember which he 
called it, ‘ that mamma often walked with 
Klemmhein in the park, and had given him a 

gold pencil-case, and * — In short, it was 

quite evident that Mademoiselle Joubert had 
talked of me more than was necessary, and 
had, moreover, neglected her duties as gover- 
ness in a most unpardonable manner — No- 
femme de chambre ever wrote more incorrectly 
than Hortense ; and though I did not say so to 
Rupert, I know that her attempts in German 
are still worse. He quite brought me round 
to his opinion at last— She certainly is very 

ignorant, and and remarkably tall 

for her age ; so I promised to use all my influ- 
ence with Henri to have her sent to some fa- 
mous pension at Strasburg.” 

“ Strasburg ! and why there ? ” 

“The best place for learning French and 
German equally well — or ill — as the case may 
be ; but it seems that Melanie made all sorts of 
inquiries about the school three years ago, when 
Rupert placed a god-daughter of his there.” 

“ A god daughter ! I never heard of his 
having such an appendage,” observed Vir- 
ginie. 

“ 0, he has^a godson too, his tutor’s children 
— all right and proper. I remember Melanie 
telling me something long ago about his having 
deposited a sum of money somewhere for their 
education ; so that if he should by chance break 
his neck or be drowned 

“ Adrienne, for goodness sake don’t talk in 
that light way ! ” 

“ Rupert’s own words, I assure you ; but 
Melanie supposed he made the arrangement to 
put an end to' the letters of thanks perpetually 
written to him by the children when their bills 
were paid. It was just what one might expect 
from him ; you know he is such a dear crea- 
ture about things of that kind ; and, indeed, 
even when he preaches propriety, he does it 
in an off hand, worldly-wise, intelligible sort of 
way, that is, at least, very enduiable. I do 
not know any one whose advice I should more 
willingly ask were I in any kind of dilemma 

By the by, have you heard again from. 

that inexorable marchande de modes at Turin ? ” 

“No. Her shameless bill hangs like the 

♦ 


0 Y HILL A. 


aword of Damocles >ver my head, and I dread 
the post-hour on account of it.” 

“ It would have been better to have sent it 
with the others to your father-in-law,” said 
Adrienne. 

“Impossible,” replied Virginie, shaking her 
head ; “ only just imagine an old man, who has 
spent a quiet life in the country, poring over a 
thing of that kind : besides, it is a sort of double 
concern, her husband being jeweller and money- 
lender, or rather a usurer, to whom in my dis- 
tress I was obliged to apply ; he cheated me 
most unscrupulously, even in the first instance 
scarcely giving me more than half the money 
of the loans placed to my account ; and these 
loans, with the accumulated interest, now 
amount to a sum of which my father-in-law 
would undoubtedly dispute the payment, and 
I should fall in his esteem, without a chance of 
relief from my difficulties.” 

“ Have } 7 ou never thought ” began Ma- 

dame de Bellegarde, sedulously rubbing a spot 

on her glove with her handkerchief, “of 

applying to Rupert you know his 

unhesitating ” 

“No, no, no, no,” cried Virginie, quickly,” any 
thing rather than that ! I thought of asking 
Victor to assist me. Grandpapa is liberal to 
him, though not to us.” 

“ Why, Virginie, have you forgotten that 
Victor has been six months in Paris ? That he 
is living, and must continue to live, at an ex- 
pensive hotel here, until he is placed some- 
where or other definitely, of which, too, at 
present there seems but little chance ? ” 

“ I know all that, but he is prudent, and al- 
ways has money it would be merely a 

loan, you know 

“ Yes ; but one that might inconvenience him, 
whereas Rupert would consider it a trifle not 
worth talking or thinking about.” 

“ It is not a trifle,” said Virginie, in a low 
voice ; “ I only confessed part of the sum to 
you.” 

“ Virginie ! ” 

“ You need not look so horrified ; I think the 
woman might perhaps be satisfied with the 
half in the way of part payment, and wait my 
convenience for the rest. I have written to 
beg of her to give me a little more time ; but 
there is little chance of her doing so when she 
hears that my father-in-law lias paid all our 
other creditors. I am really very unfortuuate 
— most unhappy ! ” 

“ I should not have thought so during the 
rehearsal yesterday.” 

“Of course not,” said Virginie, “nor after- 
wards either. I don’t choose to disgust Rupert 
with a sorrowful countenance. Nothing he dis- 
likes so much.” 

“ 1 am not quite so sure of that ” said Ma- 
dame de Bellegarde, musingly. 

“ But I am,” rejoined Virginie ; “ I know it 
makes him quite uncomfortable seeing any one 
tie likes looking ill or unhappy, and if he can- 
not remove the cause of their sorrow, he avoids 
them.” 

* He does not avoid Cyrilla,” said Madame 
de Bellegarde ; “ and I never saw any one 
looking so perfectly unl^ppy as she does ; but 
perhaps he thinks he cai remove the cause, and 
a that case ” 


14 * 

“No — I don’t — think — he can” answered 
Virginie, slowly ; “ I am myself scarcely able 
to account for it now. Her grief about Mar* 
garet’s death I should have considered a good 
piece of acting, had it not lasted so long, and 
had she not really endeavoured to conceal it in 
every possible way. I can only suppose that 
either she imagines the pool- tiling was wronged 
and ill-treated on her account, or that perhaps 
she herself has now ceased to care for Zorn- 
dorff, and rather dreads than wishes a renewal 
of his attentions. I have often lately feared it 
might be so.” 

“ Not at all improbable,” said Madame de 
Bellegarde ; “ for my part, I almost think her 
disinterested and romantic enough to prefer 
Victor to every one else.” 

“ 0 that I were sure of that 1 ” exclaimed 
Virginie, clasping her hands and looking up- 
wards ; “ but I fear, I greatly fear, she merely 
tolerates our poor brother. Come, Alphonse,” 
she added, turning to her child, “ come, it is 
time for us to go home — home I Would that 
Freilands were indeed our home ! ” 

“ I wish it were,” said Madame de Belle- 
garde. “ How nice it would be, could we ar- 
range everything after the fashion of the last 
act of a comedy — you and Rupert with joined 
hands; General Kersdorff, after a moment’s 
natural hesitation, offers his to Julie, who 
of course accepts it joyfully ; Henri discovers 
that I am an angel, entreats forgiveness for his 
unjust suspicions, ridiculous jealousy, and so 
forth 

“ And Cyrilla ? ” asked Virginie, laughing. 

“ 0, as to Victor and Cyrilla, they are both 
young — can wait, and might do better. Let us 
leave them out of our play altogether.” 

“ I wish we could do so as easily in life as in 
our theatre,” said Virginie. “ I suppose you 
have heard that Cyrilla has also refused to take 
a part in the melodrama written for us by 
Melanie ? Rupert looked so disappointed, that 
I offered my services directly, though I dislike 
Melanie’s florid language and weak plot beyond 
all expression.” 

“Well, do you know I thought it all very 
nice and pretty, the evening Cyrilla read it to 
us,” said Madame de Bellegarde, “ and you 
seemed to like it too.” 

“ I liked Cyrilla’s reading, which would have 
made a worse thing appear tolerable.” 

“ Ah — to be sure — it may have been that — 
I never heard any one read so before, and was 
quite astonished at her courage. I am sure I 
couldn’t do it.” 

“ I dare say not — few people can — but it was 
not quite so admirable and astonishing as the 
President and Rupert seemed to think ; it was 
absurd their saying they preferred reading even 
to singing as an accomplishment.” 

“ Why, it has its advantages,” said Madame 
de Bellegarde, looking unusually wise and 
speaking rather didactically ; “ it is less noisy 
in the acquirement and practice, is independent 
of accompanying instruments, modulates the 
voice for ordinary speaking, aud ” 

“ Quite true, clear Adrienne,” said Virginie. 
endeavouring to suppress a smile, “ but I have 
heard all that before, you know, from Melanie. 
Be sure to have Hortense ta nght to read at 
Strasburg.” 


iftO 


CYRJLLA. 


* Taught ! ” 

“ Of course. Surely you do Dot imagine 
that any one could read as Cyrilla does, bv in- 
spiration ? She has had the best instruction 
that could be obtained ; and when one con- 
siders all the advantages she has had, it is 
astonishing after all to find her so common- 
place a person.” 

“ O, Virginie ! ” 

“ I assure you I think so, and cannot dis- 
cover what people find to admire in her, espe- 
cially now when she wall not sing, says she 
cannot make any more amusing sketches, and 
does not even assist at our theatricals or tab- 
leaux. She makes up for all to Rupert, how- 
ever, by pretending to take an interest in the 
buildings that are being erected near that ugly 
bog. I wish you could see her studying the 
plans, and gathering up the words of wisdom 
as they fall from the lips of that most terrific 
man, the President.”- 

“ Are you also afraid of him ?” asked Ma 
dame dc Bellegarde. 

“ Beyond measure : he is even more cynical 
and severe than his nephew, without the per- 
sonal beauty and strong feelings that so nearly 
cover the multitude of ZorndorfFs sins ; to say 
nothing of his having at least the one excel- 
lent quality of never interfering w r ith other 
people’s purposes, unless they absolutely cross 
his ow t d ; while the President, either consci- 
ously or unconsciously, is perpetually marring 
any little innocent plota that may be going ou 
around him. Had it not been for his cold scru- 
tinizing glances, I should have got up a mania 
for marshes to please Rupert long ago.” 

• The sisters looked at each other, and laughed 
merrily. 

“ Allons, Alphonse,” cried Virginie, raising 
her child from the ground, “ Courons, mon en- 
fant, that we may have time to make ourselves 
pretty for dinner.” 

“ Make ourselves pretty ? ” repeated the 
child. 

“ The President,” said Virginie, looking back 
with a toss of the head, “ would tell me to en- 
deavour to give my son habits of punctuality, 
instead of instilling the poison of personal vanity 
into his young mind. It is agreeable to have 
to listen to speeches of that kind continually, 
without daring to answer them ; but a time 
may come, when even Rupert’s presence will 
not impose silence on me ! ” 


CHAPTER XL. 

When Virgiuie, a couple of hours later, with 
a good deal of affected haste, entered the 
drawing-room of Freilands, expecting to see 
the President comparing his w r atch with the 
different clocks that in various forms adorned 
die rooms, she was surprised to find Melanie, 
quite alone, waiting to receive the guests ex- 
pected from Exfort, for the purpose of joining 
in the full rehearsal of the opera, which was 
to take place in the course of the evening. 
Her practised jealous eye had scarcely had 
time to discover all that was new and tasteful 
in her companion’s dress, before her brother, 
Victor do Lindesmar, and a number of people 


arrived ; and Melanie began ts> excuse Ru 
pen’s absence, by say fig, that he had per 
suaded the President to inspect his improve- 
ments, and give an opinion about a road which 
he purposed making through the bog to the 
village — a much pleasanter way of reaching it 
than in a boat, and of very great importance 
to the inhabitants. Then follow’ed a long dis- 
cussion about roads and bogs in general, wdiicli 
so little interested Virginie, that, beckoning 
her brother, she walked out into the balcouy, 
and wondered what could have induced the 
President to forget the dinner-hour. 

“ It seems,” said Victor de Lindesmar, “ he 
persuaded Mademoiselle d’ Adlerkron to go 
with them, and I can easily imagine, her mak- 
ing people forget both time and place.” 

“ Nevertheless,” rejoined Virginie, “ the 
dirt, damp and fog, will, I suppose, remind 
them at last, that they are in a bog. I hate 
the place — and even the words marsh c* 
moorlands. One hears of nothing, from morn- 
ing till night, but drainage and irrigation 
sluices and canals, turf, dust, and peat-corn 
pressing machines ! ” 

“Very engrossing subjects of conversation, ’’said 
her brother, “ wdien one has a personal interest 
in the busiuess, and even, as a matter of specu 
lation or curiosity, by no means uninteresting 
either. I am sorry I refused Adlerkron’s in 
vitation to go wdth him to-day ; wdien I did so 
I had not the least idea that his cousin was tc 
be of the party.” 

“ So he asked you to go with him ? ” said 
Virginie, thoughtfully. “ Could he have in- 
tended you to take care of Cyrilla while he 
talked to the President \ ” 

“ 1 believe that such may have been his very 
kind intentions, and therefore the more regret 
my refusal ; but she has so invariably remained 
wdth her sister lately, that I never doubted 
I should find her in the rose roon;, and be 
permitted to accompany them to the garden, 
and afterwards sit under the trees in the lawn 
as usual.” 

“ So this affair wdth Cyrilla is really getting 
serious, Victor ? ” 

“ Quite so, I assure you. Qirectly I have 
commenced my career, no matter how subordi- 
nate my situation, I intend to write to my 
grandfather.” 

“ You had better first speak to her,” ob- 
served Virginie. 

“ I expect to have but few difficulties to 
encounter in that quarter,” answ r ered her bro- 
ther, wdth a satisfied smile ; for wdth that 
pleasing appreciation of self, not uncommon in 
men of his age — perhaps of any age — he had 
mistaken Cyrilla’s politeness for regard ; her 
careless toleration of attentions, to wdiicli she 
was accustomed from every one, to an especial 
encouragement of his own views. “ I only 
wish I w*ere as su** of my grandfather’s con- 
sent,” he added, after a moment’s pause ; “ for 
1 greatly fear that he and my mother, after the 
manner of provident parents, have already 
found out some unexceptionable partie for me 
in the neighbourhood of Amboise.” 

“ So,” said Virginie, hesitatingly, “ you only 
fear difficulties from grandpapa, and have neve* 

had cause to suppose that Cyrilla 

cares for Rupert ? ” 


CY RILL A. 


151 


' To be sure she cares for him, as everybody 
wh > knows him must — he is the best-natured 
fellow in the world : not at all to be feared as 
a rival, however, as he has not time at present 
to be even respectably attentive to any woman 
— least of all to a cousin ! And I, you know, 
have holidays now — no sort of occupation but 
to make myself agreeable.” 

“Very true,” said Virginie, “and Cyrilla 

certainly does talk to you or rather listen 

to you talking — sometimes — often in fact 

and though not always attentive ” 

“ Ah, here she comes,” cried Victor de 
Lindesmar, leaning over the balustrade, and 
bowing repeatedly, in a vain endeavour to at- 
tract the attention of the three people who 
were advancing quickly towards the house in 
eager conversation. " How charming — how 
interesting she looks ! ” 

“ The black mud on her dress does look 
rather interesting,” said Virginie, laughing; 
“ perhaps you also admire the unconcern with 
which she exhibits her boots incrusted with dirt 
and powdered with fresh dust ?” 

“ I do — I do,” cried Victor, warmly ; “ it is 
precisely that unconcern — that carelessness, 
which makes her so irresistible.” 

“ I’m sure I have no objection to your finding 
her so,” murmured Virginie. 

“ She forms such a contrast to all the other 
women I have ever known,” he continued. 

“ I don’t think you know much about her,” 
^aid Virginie w T ith some pique, for she imagined 
there was a slight reproach in her brother’s 
words. 

“ Do I not ? ” he rejoined, quickly ; “ then if 
you do, it is your duty to tell me ; and if your 
words have any particular meaning, I must 
insist on ” 

At this moment Cyrilla looked up, smiled, 
and playfully shaking her soiled dress, hurried 
into the house, followed by Rupert, but not 
before he had flourished his straw hat in the 
air towards Virginie, and pointed to the Presi- 
dent, who was looking at his watch with a mix- 
ture of astonishment and dismay. 

The rehearsal was like all such affairs at 
amateur theatres, a matter of pleasure, not 
business. There was a good deal of jesting and 
laughing, flirting and mocking ; some good act- 
ing and very tolerable singing, but to the sur- 
prise of all who were not inmates of Frielands, 
it was proved beyond a doubt that Rupert, 
though acknowledged to be the best musician 
of the party, did not know his parts. He 
laughingly accused Virginie of having neglected 
to practise with him: she retorted that his 
whole time had been latterly divided between 
his marsh and rides with his cousin ; and then 
he promised to devote the fortnight which still 
intervened before the grand representation took 
place to the study of his duets with her. 

Mr. and Madame de Bellegarde, the Presi- 
dent, and Melanie, left the stage-box, where 
they had been amused and by no means silent 
spectators of all that had been said and sung. 
Count Lindesmar prepared to follow them, but 
stopped when he perceived that Cyrilla showed 
no inclination to move. 

Virginie had walked up the now open stage 
with Rupert to a large window at the back of 
the house; and thougl apparently drawn to- 


wards it merely to look at the calm summer 
night’s sky, they continued to stand there talk- 
ing while all the others dispersed to return to 
the cheerful rooms and tea that awaited them 
below stairs. 

“ Do you wish to see the effect of the moon- 
light entering through that window after the 
lamps are extinguished?” asked Victor de 
Lindesmar, leaning over the front of the box, 
and following the direction of Cyrilla’s' eyes. 

She murmured something about her cousin 
and his sister looking as if they were just going 
to perform some interesting scene together. 

“ I don’t know much of Adlerkron’s talents 
that way,” said Lindesmar, laughing ; “ but that 
Virginie is acting now as much as she has been 
doing for the last two or three hours, I caa 
solemnly affirm. She is always acting, even 
with her nearest relations, which makes her 
very charming perhaps, but very bewildering 
— at least to me.” 

Cyrilla did not answer; she v r atched tho 
figures as they stood in the bright moonlight, 
with ?n interest that surprised her companion. 
It was evident that no common or indifferent 
subject w r as being discussed, for Rupert listened 
with deep attention — Virginie’s handkerchief 
was pressed to her eyes with a haste and trepi- 
dation of very striking effect, and at length a 
letter was drawn from her pocket, w hich she 
read slowly and with frequent interruptions. 

“By Jove! she’s consulting him about the 
General’s proposal,” cried Victor, “ expecting 
him, in all probability, to forbid the banns : it’s 
an old affair that between your cousin and my 
sister, Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron, and would 
have come off very satisfactorily four years 
ago, they tell me, if it had not been for some 
unfortunate mistakes and misunderstandings.” 

“ Indeed ! I was not aware of that,” said 
Cyrilla, quietly. 

“ The particulars I have never heard,” con- 
tinued Victor de Lindesmar ; “ for after being 
so long separated from my sisters, they bestow 
their confidence rather sparingly upon me; but 
I hope all will go on well now, as I should like 
Adlerkron amazingly for a brother-in-law, he is 
such a capital fellow — just the thing for Vir- 
ginie. How well she looks in the moonlight 
and how picturesquely she stands there ! I 
had no idea she was so graceful ! ” 

Nor had Cyrilla; neither had she ever ob- 
served that Virginie used so much action wdien 
speaking ; but her various and unceasing 
efforts to attract Rupert, Cyrilla had long 
watched with displeasure, if not uneasiness* 
and now Lindesmar’s words, though proceeding 
from a false representation of facts, convinced 
her, not only that Virginie herself was more in 
earnest than she had hitherto supposed, but 
that all her family entertained hopes, if not 
actual expectations, of so desirable a connexion. 
An intolerable sensation of anxiety, a succes- 
sion of irrepressible doubts and fears, over- 
whelmed her, and for a few moments almost 
impeded respiration ; yet so fruitful is the hu- 
man mind in expedients to satisfy itself, that, 
when she rose to leave the box, she had 
already convinced herself that Rupert’s happi- 
ness was so much dearer to her than her own, 
that the mental pain she was suffering pro- 
ceeded altogether from anxiety lest he might 


152 


0 Y R I 

become entangled in the- snares of an artful 
woman, rendered desperate by a tarnished 
reputation and pecuniary embarrassments. 

As she movfid through the impeding chairs, 
Lindesmar suddenly clapped his hands, and 
cried out, “ Bravo, encore, encore ! ” Cyrilla 
turned back, aud once more looked on the 
stage. Rupert aud Yirginie were advancing 
quickly towards the front, where the light of 
the last remaining lamp fell full upon their 
faces; the former laughed, the latter looked 
annoyed, but endeavoured to respond to her 
brother’s fluent jests, which continued without 
intermission while they returned to the draw- 
ing-room together. Before they entered, Rupert 
stopped, and Cyrilla heard him say, “ Yirginie, 
after all, I must give you some advice on this 
occasion. Do not let any one influence you in 
your second choice — Bellegarde’s opinion is of 
no consequence whatever, as he certainly does 
not value you as you deserve.” 

“ Perhaps so, but he knows all the difficulties 
©f my situation, and there is one which — but I 
would rather tell you of it some other time.” 

“ Whenever you please, — the sooner the bet- 
ter, if I can in any way be of use to you.” 

The evening passed quickly and pleasantly, 
as most evenings do when people know each 
other intimately, and are not embarrassed by 
unnecessary attentions towards or deference for 
-each other ; but it was not until all excepting 
the Bellegardes and Lindesmars had left, that 
Rupert produced a long alphabetical list of his 
friends and acquaintance, and said it was now 
time to make a selection for the first represent- 
ation ctf the opera. 

They seated themselves round a table, and a 
very animated discussion began, in which even 
the President did not disdain to join as he 
walked up and down the room with steady 
step and slow. 

It would be easy here to give a tolerable 
sketch of the society iu and about Exfort, and 
the temptation is strong, when the recollection 
of the brilliant precedents which might be ad- 
duced for this practice presents itself. It is 
true, a ball-room or club-house is the most ap- 
proved place for novelists, through the medium 
of some satirical ladies or gentlemen, to parade 
and inspect their fellow-creatures, and show 
their knowledge of human nature. Yet Melanie, 
with her list of high-sounding names before her, 
pencil in hand, aud politely inteiTogative ex- 
pression of countenance, surrounded by a group 
of figures seemingly vying with each other in 
ease of attitude and freedom of remark, would 
answer the purpose equally well, and even 
have the advantage of an equivocal sort of 
originality .... Nevertheless we refrain, know- 
ing from wearisome experience that a descrip- 
tion of people who are not concerned in the 
events related seldom interests, and but too 
often tires the reader. 

It was late when Melanie came to the end 
of her “ scroll,” as she chose to call the list ; and 
the last name on it, in consequence of the alpha- 
betical order of succession, was Zorndorff’s. 

“ 0,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, rising ; 
* we need not discuss him, he belongs to us, 
and will be invited as a matter of course.” 

“ I only wonder he has not been here before,” 
•aid Julie, pushing back her chair ; “ one really 


L L A 

ought to do s Dinething to console and enliven 
him.” 

“It appears to me,” observed Rupert, after a 
hasty glance towards Cyrilla, “ that there would 
be a sort of indelicacy in supposing it possible 
that such a gay affair as private theatricals 
could be consonant, to his feelings at present, 
especially as we shall afterwards dance until 
sunrise.” 

“ I caunot agree with you, Rupert,” said the 
President, stopping short in his walk. “The 
continuation of Edouard’s grief cannot bring 
back his wife from the grave, aud it is scarcely 
to be expected that he will mourn for ever.” 

“ Certainly not,” observed M. de Bellegarde ; 
“ King David’s mode of practising resignation 
is well worthy of imitation.” 

“ If yon have no objection to invite him, 
Rupert,” continued the President, apparently 
unconscious of the support offered to liis opin- 
ions ; “ I confess I should like to have him 
among us, and to see him restored to cheerful- 
ness again.” 

“ I merely offered an opinion,” said Rupert, 
“ and Melanie is quite at liberty to do as she 
pleases.” If he expected to find an ally in his 
cousin, he was mistaken ; she had not courage 
to attempt a word of opposition to her hus- 
band’s wishes, and the name was underlined 
in silence. 

Soon after, the President began to prolong 
his walk into the adjacent rooms, from one of 
which, according to his usual custom, he silently 
retired for the night. The party broke up 
after having made some -arrangements for the 
ensuing day ; but still unwilling to part, or 
tempted by the fineness of the night, they all 
prepared for a moonlight walk through the 
park 

“ I suppose,” said Julie to Cyrilla, as chance 
placed them side by side on the gravel walk, 
“I suppose you have heard of Zorndorff’s 
eccentricities ? ” 

“ I have not heard even his namo for more 
than a month until this evening,” answered 
Cyrilla. , 

“ Only imagine, lie has' left his beautiful 
house, barred the windows, locked the doors, 
dismissed the servants, sold his horses, and — 
returned to his old lodgings in the town !” 

“ Probably the rooms in his house gave rise 
to unpleasant reminiscences,” observed Cyrilla. 

“ Very likely. I shouldn’t wonder if Margaret 
haunted that library — he never could keep her 
out of it, you know : even on the night of the 
last ball, she found her way there through the 
conservatory, .after having tried all the other 
entrances in vain. They say, she entered by 
one of the windows. Did you ever hear of 
such a thing, in a ball-dress, covered with 
flowers too? But she certainly did look un 
usually wild that night, with her water-lilies 
and green dress ; and I never shall forget her 
face, as she came up to me, when I was dancing 
the cotillon, to ask if I had seen Zorndorff, or 

Melanie, or you Iu order to get rid of her, 

I said that I was sure he had escaped to the 
library as soon as the dancing had recom- 
menced, and, by all accounts, there she found 
him.” 

Cyrilla shuddered as she recalled the meeting 
that had taken place ; but she did not speak, 


CYRILLA 


158 


und J jlie continued : “ Henri and Victor Lave 
Keen to see him repeatedly lately ; but until 
to-day, I have not been able to persuade 
Adrienne to go, though she knows that Melanie 
visits him regularly every week.” 

“ Melanie is his aunt,” observed Cyrilla, 
quietly. 

“ Well, we are his friends, and very much 
pleased he was to see us too ; he became quite 
cheerful, and made me tell him all about the 
rehearsals ; he knew that you had refused to 
play, and said, that from all accounts you were 
amusing yourself perfectly well with my brother 
Victor.” 

“ Which you of course contradicted,” said 
Cyrilla, quickly. 

“Not 1 ! What business is it of his ? You 
have as good a right to amuse yourself with 
Victor as I have to amuse myself with him ; 
and so I told him. He then showed Adrienne 
his little suite of rooms, which, considering that 
he now professes to despise wealth, were fur- 
nished with great luxury. Tn one of them we 
found Rickey, the niece of that odioijs woman 
Vica. It seems poor Margaret allowed her to 
learn cookery under their chef, and she now 
manages Zorndorff’s reduced household for him 
in a very satisfactory manner, as he gravely 
.assured us in her presence.” 

Here some of the others joined them, and 
the conversation became general. 

On their return home, Melanie and Cyrilla 
'entered the house, and retired at once to their 
respective apartments. Virginie lingered in the 
moonlight, talking to Rupert, and imperceptibly 
iuducing him to loiter about with her. When 
Cyrilla, an hour later, extinguished her light, 
and timidly peeped through the half open 
jalousie of her window, she saw them still walk- 
ing up and down before the house, conversing 
earnestly. 

Virginie was too well skilled in the meta- 
physics of the heart., as they regard the passion 
of love, to be satisfied with the progress which 
the last month had enabled her to make in 
Rupert’s regard. She had, it is true, renewed 
the unreserved intercourse of early years, but 
it had been effected by disguising her real feel- 
ings under the mask of ordinaiy friendliness, 
and she was tired of the restraint, impatient of 
the slow progress of her plans. Greatly morti- 
fied at the total failure of the rather vulgar 
ruse which she had employed that evening, of 
endeavouring to rouse him from his apathy by 
exhibiting the. written professions of love made 
her by another, and asking his advice, she did 
not now return to the subject — rather avoided 
it ; but she spoke with passionate eloquence 
and without any sort of reserve of her unfor- 
tunate marriage, and consequent wretchedness, 
casting aside all restraint in the relation of a 
.series of domestic horrors, the recollection of 
which seemed to have been engraved in words 
of fire on her memory. Shocked and amazed, 
Rupert listened to a recital of scenes of coarse- 
ness and depravity which he had. hitherto sup- 
posed altogether confined to the lowest and 
least educated class of society, and his sym- 
pathy proved a but too great encouragement to 
his companion to continue — what she ought 
never to have begun. That she finally con- 
vinced Rupert of her husband’s utter worthless- 


ness and her own perfect innocence, need 
scarcely be said. Naturally flattered at the 
immense confidence placed in him, his offers of 
advice and assistance in the anangefnerit of her 
affairs were freely given, and as freely accepted. 
She confessed having some debts. How could 
it be otherwise, when de Rubigny had latterly 
spent everything at the gaming table, or on 
others, and had compelled her to raise money 
for herself and her child in every possible man- 
ner, forcing her on some occasions to submit to 
unheard of imposition ! 

“ All that is at an end,” cried Rupert cheer- 
fully, as they stopped before the hall-door. 
“ If I cannot make you forget the past, I may 
at least watch over your future life, now that 
you have given me permission to do so.” 

Perhaps Virginie misunderstood the meaning 
of these words. There was a joyousness and 
fervour in her expressions of gratitude, as she 
clung to his arm, when entering the house, 
which would have been less agreeable to 
Rupert had he known that Cyrilla’s tearful 
eyes were following all their movements. 



CHAPTER XL I. 

Rupert’s rehearsals with Virginie and the 
other performers increased in frequency and 
length from day to day. The music-room 
was often deserted for the theatre, whence 
the sound of the orchestra occasionally pene- 
trated through an open door or window even 
to Melanie’s drawing-rcom, where Cyrilla 
usually sat, patiently awaiting her cousin’s 
leisure to ride with her. 

These rides had not only been much cur 
tailed of late, but on some occasions Rupert 
had excused himself altogether; and one 
day when, considerably past the usual time, 
he entered the room for this purpose, he was 
not a little disconcerted at finding Cyrilla al 
ready in her habit, and evidently unprepared 
for a disappointment. With undissembled an- 
noyance, he explained thatdn consequence of 
Virginie having only that moment returned 
from Neuhof, where she had spent the morn 
ing, he feared when the rehearsal with hei 
was ended it would be too late for them to 
go out. 

Cyrilla said it was of no consequence what 
ever, and looked out of the window with a very 
well got-up air of unconcern; but Melanie, 
w*ho was present, observed, somewhat dis 
contentedly, that “It almost appeared as if 
Virginie, on purpose, chose the hours that 
would interfere with Cyrilla’s rides.” 

“0 no,” cried Rupert, quickly, “ what mo- 
tive could she have for doing so ? ” 

“I leave that for you to discover,” she an 
swered ; “ but I am sony that Cyrilla so often 
loses her rides, as Wilhelm says they are im- 
proving her health wonderfully, and making 
her look quite as she used to do.” 

“Cyrilla,” said Rupert, endeavouring to 
catch a glimpse of her averted face, “ after 
hearing this you may be sure that nothing 
shall ever again prevent my being in attend- 
ance at the appointed time. In fact, being 
deprived so frequently of both your md Me 


£64 


C-Y RILLi 


lanie's society bad male me find these re- 
hearsals inexpressibly tiresome and disagree- 
ible.* 

“ Indeed ! ” said Cyrilla, with very strong 
emphasis. 

“ So much so, that I assure you I have often 
been disgracefully inattentive. How could 
t be otherwise, with thoughts so continually 
wandering . . . .” 

To your workmen perhaps ? ” 

“ More frequently to }'ou and Lindesmar, 
who have latterly completely distracted my 
attention by sitting under the oak-tree just 
opposite the windows of the music-room.” 

“But Melanie, the Bellegardes, and visiters 
innumerable, have been there also,” said 
Cyrilla, smiling ; “ why must we bear the 
whole blame ? ” 

“ Because I only saw you, and Lindesmar’ s 
white teeth and black eyes,” replied Rupert, 
laughing. “But, jesting apart, Cyrilla, I 
think 3 'ou are beginning to allow him to pay 
you a little — a very little more attention 
than is exactly necessary, or quite prudent, 
all things considered.” 

“And, jesting apart, Rupert,” she rejoined 
with some archness, but more earnestness, 
'•/think you are beginning to allow Virginie 
to pay you more attention than is exactly ne- 
cessary, or at all prudent that is, if 

you do not mean to to ” 

“ No,” said Rupert, “ I don’t mean to 

to any more than you mean to 

to ” 

The entrance of Virginie at that moment 
was rather agreeable to Cyrilla than other- 
wise, and at Rupert’s request she wen£ with 
them to the music-room, and for an hour 
made herself generally useful, singing second 
soprano, or even bass, as they required it. 

When she left them, Rupert watched in 
vain for her appearance under the oak-tree. 
Melanie was there, and Lindesmar, looking 
rather disconsolate ; and a little later, the 
Bellegardes, and some other families from the 
immediate neighbourhood, with children and 
lapdogs in the usual profusion — and chairs 
were carried out * of the hall — and tables 
were spread with fruit and cakes — and groups 
of people walked about — and mirthful youth- 
ful laughter ascended to the window which 
Rupert threw wide open. 

“ That lawn is a gay place,” he said, lean- 
ing out, “ and the view of the lake, with the 
sun shining on it, is really very exhilarating 
— I wonder how it will look in winter ? ” 

“ Cheerful enough when covered with 
skaters,” answered Virginie; “and that it 
will be, as you and your regiment remain at 
Exfort. It is even pretty generally known 
that you intend to reside here in future, and 
are at present meditating the choice of a 
companion for life. As yet, you have man- 
aged successfully to baffle all efforts to dis- 
cover the person most favoured ; but of course 
once you have decided there will be little d<*- 
lay or difficult}’' afterwards.” 

“Such has not been my fate, Virginie ; on 
the contrary, your predictions three years 
ago have been fulfilled to the letter.” 

“ Cyrilla did not care for you then,” said 


Virginie, l.oking up ; ‘bit now I . . . 
now ? ” 

“Now- -’’said Rupert, hesitating, “there 
is an impediment not to be easily overcome.” 

“ It will never be overcome — ” cried Vir- 
ginie, quickly, “never — never! Cyrilla has 
made a promise to Count Zorndorff, from 
which no consideration on earth will induce 
him to release her.” 

“ Who told you that? ” 

“ Zorndorff himself — he says, that though 
now justly angry with him, he is convinced 
that her affections will eventually triumph 
over her resentment ; and this is my opinion 
also.” 

Rupert smiled contemptuously, and shook 
his head. 

“ Believe me, Rupert, you are wasting 
your best years in efforts to obtain the re- 
gard of a gii-l who never did, and never will, 
care for you. Her indifference about Ma- 
dame Vinci ought to have convinced you.” 

“ I do not exactly understand ” 

“ Why, can you believe it possible that, if 
she loved you the least in the world, she 
would have chosen bracelets for that woman, 
or assisted you to throw bouquets and gar- 
lands at her, as l am told she did, night after 
night in the Circus?” 

“And,” said Rupert, twisting hi3 mous- 
tachios, and looking down on his companion, 
while his eyes sparkled with ill-suppressed 
mirth, “do you think that an Adlerkron 
would condescend to be jealous of the direct- 
ress of an equestrian troop, even though she 
were the queen of the Amazons herself? ” 

Virginie turned away, and tears of vexation, 
rose to her eyes at what she supposed a taunt, 
but which had not been intended as such. 
When Rupert spoke again, it was to tell her 
frankly, that until Cyrilla actually consent- 
ed to marry Zorndorff, he would not believe 
that all chance was lost for him. 

Had Virginie known this sooner, it might 
perhaps have prevented her from forming 
plans and indulging expectations so totally 
groundless as hers of late had been. But 
Zorndorff ’s communication, joined to Cyrilla’s 
very studied avoidance of Rupert since Mar- 
garet’s death, had raised new hopes, which, 
now suddenly and totally destroyed by the 
last few words, caused such bitter disappoint* 
ment that she could make no effort to con- 
ceal her feelings as, in a low faltering voice, 
she thanked him for his confidence, but — 
wished he had bestowed it sooner. 

Rupert bit his lip, and coloured violently 
ns he turned over some music on a table 
near him, while endeavouring to recall his 
words and actions, as far as Virginie was 
concerned, during the last two months. Ever 
generous even in his inmost thoughts, self- 
reproach became the feeling uppermost in 
his mind, and, all-unconscious of the arts that 
had been used to attra t and enchain him, he 
feared that he had, by his self-indulgence in 
her society, again entangled the affections of 
one whose only weakness, in his idea, was 
the too great trust she had ever reposed in 
him, and who, by his silence respecting his 
continued attachment to Cyrilla, had be^iu 


C TRILL A. 


led tc suppose him as free to choose again as 
she was herself. 

He stammered some excuses, to which she 
listened with half-averted head, and a face 
glowing with the vermilion-tinted blush pe- 
culiar to brunettes ; but at length, deeply i e- 
gretting having so uselessly betrayed her- 
self, and fearing total estrangement on his 
part, she turned round, and endeavoured to 
remove his embarrassment and her own by 
talking for a few moments, rather incohe- 
rently it is true, of her unalterable friendship, 
but "ending with some very plausible re- 
proaches for his silence, and the want of trust 
in her made evident by it. 

Never were reproaches more joyfully re- 
ceived, more willingly answered; but while 
he, with a light step and lighter heart, left 
the room, she stood motionless on the spot 
where he left her, overwhelmed with con- 
fusion and grief, and asking herself the ques- 
tion — “ Have I betrayed myself or not? Why,’* 
she murmured, covering her burning face 
with her hands, “ oh, why did I not remain 
silent, and leave him to imagine what he 
pleased? How much more free would now 
have been my sphere of action 1 But ...... 

I will not give up ail hope yet why 

should I? We are both still young, and 
ZorndorfF is not a man to yield to any one, 
or for any consideration. I must speak to 
him, however, as soon as possible, — must tell 
him to insist on the fulfilment of the promise 
made him by Cyrilla. He laughed at the 
idea of Victor as a rival, — doubted me when 
I spoke of Rupert : — What will he say now ? ” 

Throwing herself into the nearest chair, 
she then began to meditate on the course 
that remained for her to pursue. More than 
suspecting that Rupert had seen through her 
last feminine artifice, and aware that he knew 
her to be a proud woman, she resolved upon 
that consciousness to acfc Instead of avoid- 
ing him, she would cotivWue to seek his so- 
ciety, but assuming henceforward a studied 
reserve of manner, would let him only at 
well-chosen intervals perceive the efforts she 
was making to conceal a passion so strong as 
at times to cause forgetfulness of prudence, 
and induce her to break through all the re- 
straints imposed upon her sex. And so judi- 
cious was her art, so incomparable her skill 
in forming every look, tone, and gesture, ac- 
cording to her plans, that only those who 
have suffered from the wiles of a perpetual 
actress can form an idea of the trials to which 
Rupert' s patience was likely to be put. 

^ 

CHAPTER X L I I. 

In the meantime, Cyrilla determined in fu- 
ture to avoid Lindesmar, descended one of 
the back staircases; and, having changed her 
dress, passed through the gardens, and hur- 
ried on to the silence of the beech- wood. 
Unobservant of the summer splendour around 
her, she sauntered on in deep thought, under 
the cool shade of trees, supposed to be as sa- 
lubrious to human as destructive to vegeta- 
ble life. Rupert’s last remark about Lindes- 


159 

mar proving so clearly that no interests 01 
variety of occupation fad made him forget- 
ful or unobservant of her, was the only slight 
consolation she could find during the contem- 
plation of her calamitous embarra roients, 
which the prospect of soon again seeing Zorn* 
dorff brought vividly to her mind ; and she 
dwelt long on the pleasant recollection, fan- 
cifully comparing it to one of those fitful 
gleams of sunshine that, occasionally pene- 
trating the branches above her, though af- 
fording no actual warmth, nevertheless, by 
an easy effort of the imagine ti n, might be 
supposed to indicate a cloud 7 ess heaven and 
bright prospect, when once oot of the., sur- 
rounding gloom. But scarcely had this idea 
taken omen-like possession <*{ her thoughts, 
than it was scared away by j oudden quiver 
ing of the foliage around" her, and the low 
moaning sound of wind sweeping through 
the trees. These well knewn harbingers of 
a thunder-storm, which tho heat of the wea- 
ther had made more than probable, eiused 
Cyrilla instantly to stop, &nd deliberaU what 
she should do ; for, although she had no weak 
fears of lightning, and did not shudder at the 
sound of thunder, a wood was not exactly 
the place in which she chose to reat^n dur- 
ing the storm’s continuance. Cnwidering 
the way back much too long, she d voided on 
endeavouring to reach the nearest opening 
to the lake, where Rup< rt had desired a boat 
to be placed every morning. Thej.o might be 
time to cross at least to the ieBi/ 1 , and per- 
haps even to reach the cottage, before the 
rain commenced. 

She began to run along a lately discovered 
short cut through the trees, lightly spring- 
ing over the protruding rooty, when, on look- 
ing down a long glade to catch a glimpse of 
the sky, she perceived the figure of a man 
coming quickly and stealthily towards her. 
Had he walked upright or made any sign of 
greeting, she might have supposed him a 
wood-ranger, or one of Rupert’s workmen, 
and rejoiced in his appearance ; but there 
was something in the crouching gait of the 
man, as he skulked behind the trees, that 
marked him at once as a trespasser, if not 
something worse. An indefinite sensation 01 
fear began to oppress her, and she hurried on 
towards the lake, the sound of following foot- 
steps only increasing her speed, until close 
at her ear she heard the hoarse whisper — 
“Stop, ma’am, if you please, and tell me if 
this road leads to any public-house where a 
poor traveller could pass the night ? ” 

C}U'illa stopped, and endeavoured to ex- 
plain that the road which he had left would 
bring him to the forester’s house ; but that 
before him there was only the lake or the 
moorlands, which -were dangerous to pass 
without a guide. 

There was something fearfully repulsive 
in the appearance of the man, as he stood 
before her, leaning on a stout walking-stick, 
and scowling at her from under his black 
bushy eyebrows. The growth of several 
days’ beard was on his face, his hair was 
matted, and his cheeks sunken; the clothes 
which covered his thick-set figure seemed 
not to have been made for him, ai d were 


\ 


i56 


CYRILLA. 


foiled and to* n in many places ; and he flat- 
tened his old blue cloth cap over his right 
ear with a mixture of negligence and imper- 
tinence, even while she spoke to him. 

“ Is there any one on the lake ? ” he asked 
abruptly, when she ceased. 

“I don’t know,” she replied, moving quick- 
ly on. 

“I’m in great distress, ma’am, and would 
be obliged to you for any trifle you may 
have about you.” 

“I’m very sorry,” began Cyrilla, breath- 
ing quickly, “but I have no money with 

trie ” 

“Your watch, ma’am, with the chain, may 
be worth something.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she handed 
it to him. 

Having deposited it in his waistcoat- 
pocket, he walked on beside her, swinging 
his stick in the air at every step, and appa- 
rently enjoying her terror, which, notwith- 
standing all her endeavours, was becoming 
but too evident. 

“We’re likely to have a thunder-storm, 
ma’am, and that will chase the boats off the 
lake, I’m thinking.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Cyrilla, beginning again 

to run on. 

“ Stop, young woman ; you had better an- 
swer me civilly,” he cried, pursuing her. “ I 
want to know if I can find a boat hereabouts 
— I’m thinking if you didn’t know there was 
one a-waiting for you at the lake, you 
wouldn't run there so fast.” 

He made a grasp at her arm as he spoke; 
but, with a sort of desperation, Cyrilla dash- 
ed off his hand, and bounded forward witli a 
velocity that nothing but mortal fear could 
give. A faint hope of gaining the boat, and 
having time to push out into the lake, sup- 
ported her until she heard the low muttered 
curses of the pursuer again close behind her ; 
but on reaching the opening to the lake, her 
limbs began to falter, her heart seemed to 
rise to her throat, deep horror to impede res- 
piration the ground beneath her to heave, 
when — stretched at full length on the well- 
known wooden bench, she beheld Zorndorff. 

He started to his feet as, with a scream of 
•wild exultation at her deliverance, she sprang 
towards him ; but the revulsion of feeling 
was too strong, and she was scarcely in a 
state of consciousness as she convulsively 
pressed her face to his shoulder, and gasped 
out — “Save me, Edouard — save me! ” 

Before he had time to express his astonish- 
ment, or ask for explanation, the revolting 
figure of the traveller explained all. With 
a scarcely perceptible motion, Zorndorff put 
his hand behind him, and taking up his cane, 
pressed a spring, and in a moment a long 
sharp sword was at his service. 

“ Who are you, and what do you want ? ’’ 
he asked, calmly. 

The man was at first too confounded to 
answer — at length he stammered something 
about having lost his wav, and seeking 
lome village or inn where he could rest ; but 
whi e speaking, he eyed the boat so wistfully 
that Zorndorff could not help suspecting lie 
wished to appropriate it to his immediate 


use, and consequenty moved nearer to him 
as he answered, “Men do not expect to find 
inns or villages in enclosed grounds. Were 
I a gendarme I should inspect your papers — 
not being one, 1 bid you begone with all con- 
venient despatch. You have given me more 
time than is necessary to note your face and 
figure.” 

The ruffian grasped his stick firmly, raised 
it for a moment menacingly ; but tfie more 
dangerous weapon, perhaps also the steady 
eye and posture of his antagonist, deterred 
him from commencing hostilities, and he 
slunk away into the wood, stopping occa- 
sionally to look back, and vent his impotent 
rage in imprecations, accompanied by distor- 
tions of countenance that produced a dis- 
gusting resemblance to the canine species. 

Cyrilla, who had latterly ocen standing at 
a little distance a trembling spectator of this 
scene, watched him anxiously until he was 
quite out of sight, and then sat down on the 
bench, and began to breathe freely ; but with 
returning thought and composure she felt 
the most poignant grief at what had occur- 
red — the bitterest vexation at her want of 
presence of mind. Why had she sought re- 
fuge with Zorndorff? Would not his presence 
alone have been sufficient protection? Why 
had she not sprung into the boat, and se- 
cured at once a retreat for herself and for 
him, had it been necessary? Had Rupert, 
or even Lindesmar, a woodranger, or the old 
fisherman been on the spot, she would have 
embraced any of them in the same manner, 
and laughed at it afterwards ; but Zorn- 

dorff was not likely to suppose that terror 

alone had dictated her movements and 

how differently had she intended to have met 
him! What would he think of her now? 
and, in painful uncertainty, she looked up — 
caught his eye, and felt herself blush in- 
tensely. 

“ I must go,” she cried, starting from her 
seat, and quickly descending the bank to- 
wards the boat. “We are likely to have a 
thunder-storm, and ” 

“And torrents of rain,” said Zorndorff, as a 
wild gust of wind swept along the lake, giv- 
ing it the leaden colour of the sky above it. 
“In such weather,” he added, stepping into 
the boat after her, and taking up the ears, “I 
cannot lei vou go alone. You had better 
steer for the island, and wait in the cottage 
until the first burst of the storm is over.” 

Cyrilla, who had no sort of inclination for a 
tete-a-tete with him, shook her head, said she 
did not mind the rain, and preferred going 
home. Without further remonstrance, Zorn- 
dorff obeyed, endeavouring as much as possi- 
ble to steady the small, sharply-built boat 
but too evidently intended for fail’, and not 
at all adapted to foul weather. The waves 
ran tolerably high for a small lake ; and Cy- 
rilln, steering with the most feminine uncer- 
tainty and carelessness, dividing her attention 
pretty equally between the rudder and her 
garden hat, more than once plac^ them 
within an inch of capsizing. 

“ Steady, Cyrilla, and steer f( r tne boat- 
house,” cried Zorndorff, at last; * i , must b# 
just opposite to, you now!” 


C YRILL A. 


157 


“ I can scarcely see it at all since the rain 
oegan,” she answered; “but perhaps you 
will steer and let me row for a little while, 
until you have rested — you seem very tired.” 

“No,” said Zorndorff, holding both oars 
with one hand, while with the other he loos- 
ened his cravat, and took a long, gasping 
kind of breath ; “ I am not at all tired, but I 
have lately been suffering occasionally from 
difficulty 'of breathing — fits of suffocation — 
which are very disagreeable.” 

“ I did not "know I was not aware 

I mean I never heard of your having 

been ill.” 

“Of course not,” he rejoined, beginning to 
row with increased energy; “how could you, 
after having forbidden Melanie to mention 
my name in your presence? ” 

“ Have you consulted any one ? ” asked 
C\ r rilla, without noticing his last words. 
‘Have you had advice?” 

“ Yes, but I don’t mean to follow it 

in fact, I cannot, for the violent exercise I 
have been told to avoid has lately become 
absolutely necessary to calm the intolerable 
restlessness that torments me — a restlessness 
produced bv mental excitement of no common 
kind, and of which I can at present foresee no 
termination.” 

Cyril la was silent : she did not choose to be 
drawn into premature explanations ; and in- 
deed the gusts of wind and torrents of rain 
soon made all conversation impossible. Both 
as they stepped ashore were as completely 
wet as if they had been immersed in the lake, 
and both looked and felt inexpressibly miser- 
able. The influence that the mind exercises 
over the body could scarcely be more fully 
exemplified than on this occasion. There is 
little doubt that had Rupert been Cyrilla’s 
companion, the boat-house would have echo- 
ed with merry laughter, and a quick walk up 
the avenue would have prevented the violent 
fit of shivering which befell her as she mur- 
mured some measured words of thanks, while 
Zorndorff fastened the half-swamped boat to 
one of the posts. 

Irritated by her manner, but not wishing 
her to perceive that such was the case, he 
repeated the word “ thanks,” and then look- 
ing up, asked, “ for what ? ” 

Cyrilla turned away, and neither of them 
knowing how to continue a conversation so 
unpropitiously commenced, a painful silence 
ensued. Directly they came within view of 
the windows of the house, servants hurried 
towards them with umbrellas, and at the hall 
door they were met by the President and 
Melanie. The latter exclaimed eagerly, “ 0, 
dear Cyrilla, we have been in such a state of 
alarm about you ! When Rupert heard that 
you had gone out alone, he was quite frantic 
— went off directly to look for you, and even 
took some gendarmes who happened to be 
h.ere with him ! He is actually much more 
afraid of a thunder-storm than I am, and . . .” 

“ He never thought about the storm or rain 
either,” said the President, interrupting her. 
“The fact is, Melanie we did not choose to 
alarm you and Madame de Rubigny by let- 
ting vou know that those very gendarmes 
brought the it telligence that a criminal, who 


! escaped the day before j^esterday from Exfort 
jail, lias been traced to Freilands Park, and 
was in all probability prowling about the 
grounds.” 

“ What an escape ! ” cried Melanie; “ho"v\ 
she might have been frightened had she met 
him ! ” 

“1 have been frightened,” said Cyrilla ; and 
then she related in a few w*ords what had 
happened, and afterwards gave a servant a 
short note to Rupert, hastily written in pen- 
cil, to tell him that she had reached home in 
safety by the lake. 

“ And now, Melanie,” said the President, 
“you must in Rupert’s name invite Edouard 
to remain here.” 

Zorndorff, after a glance towards Cyrilla, 
declined the invitation which his aunt rather 
hesitatingly proffered. “ lie should be obliged 
to return home to dress — could not be back in- 
time for dinner — was not yet equal to the 
gaiety of Freilands ” 

“Pshaw! ” cried the President; “ the sooner 
you get over that last idea the better — we 
miss you, and want to have you w r ith us 
again. I know Rupert will be greatly an- 
noyed to find that you preferred going home, 
to dry clothes, a good dinner, and pleasant 
company here.” 

Zorndorff seemed to waver — one word, one. 
look from Cyrilla would have been sufficient 
to retain him ; but with an almost impercep- 
tible inclination of her head, she passed on 
into the hall, and thence to her room. Scarce- 
ly, however, had she begun to disencumber 
herself of her wet garments, when a tramp- 
ing of feet and confused noise of many voices 
reached her ear. The sounds were too unu- 
sual in such a well appointed household not to 
attract immediate attention, and even to 
cause some anxiety. She rang her bell for 
the second time with some impatience, and 
at length her maid appeared, and began with 
great volubility to relate that Count Zorn- 
dorff had been taking leave quite quietly of 
his excellency the Herr President, when sud- 
denly his mouth filled with blood, and when 
he put up his hand, it gushed out over his 
arm ; that he had refused to enter the house, 
and said it was of no consequence, but after- 
wards had fallen down quite like dead. She 
had not heard Mademoiselle ring twice, for 
she had just stepped into the hall to hear 
what had happened ; and there was the* 
Count lying on the floor as pale as death, 
and blood still flowing from his mouth, but 
not so much as at first, they said ; and the 
Countess Falkenstein was kneeling beside 
him, and his excellency walking up and down- 
giving orders, and 

Cyrilla ran past her into the hall, and look- 
ed on with a strange confusion of thoughts, 
while Zorndorff was being carried to a room 
at the other end of the house. As she slowly 
followed and saw him lying with closed eyes, 
his face colourless, his hands and clothes co- 
vered with blood, the idea that he was — her 
husband — presented itself with a distinctness 
that was intolerably painful. Th* being she 
had once loved, and now dreaded beyond al? 
others, was prostrated helpless, perhaps dy- 
ing, before her, and she dared not show eve# 


CYllILL^ 


168 

the common interest which she might be sup- 
posad to feel for her sister’s nephew! 

The most profound silence reign id in the 
room after the servants had withdrawn, and 
Cyrilla stood for some minutes in distressing 
perplexity before she summoned courage to 
approach" Melanie, and say, in a whisper, “Do 
you think that the exertion of rowing could 
have caused this frightful illness? ” 

“ I do not know,” she answered ; “ perhaps 
r.ot, as he has been ill for some time, and 

“And,” said the President, somewhat stern- 
ly, “and doing everything that he knew was 
likely to injure his health. One would real- 
ly suppose he had some object to attain in 
being dangerously ill ! ” 

This apeecli seemed to irritate Zorndorff in 
a remarkable manner. With sudden violence 
he turned round, raised himself on his elbow, 
opened his e} T es widely, and endeavoured to 
speak ; but the words were choked in blood, 
and he sank back with an impatient moan. 

“I am sure,” said Cyrilla, compassionately, 
“ no one would wish to be in this state if 
they could help it ; however, I trusjf there is 
no danger to be apprehended, for I remember 
hearing that my father once burst a blood- 
vessel without in any way injuring his 
.ungs.” 

While speaking, she had unconsciously ap- 
proached the sofa, and Zorndorff, taking her 
hand, endeavoured to draw her nearer, when 
he gazed earnestly in her face. The Presi- 
dent looked from one to the other rather in- 
quisitively, and walked to the window ; but 
when Melanie, hoping that the moment of 
reconciliation she had so long desired had at 
length arrived, was advancing to whisper 
words of peace and forgiveness, they heard 
a well-known quick step approaching the 
door, and a moment after Rupert, wet and 
much bespattered with mud, entered the 
room. 

“ I was sorry to hear of your sudden ill- 
ness, Zorndorff,” he said, going up to him ; 
“very sorry indeed. It would have been 
pleasanter had you turned into your old 
quarters of your own accord, and not been 
so disagreeably compelled to occupy them. 
However, Melanie will take good care of 
you, and T have sent to Exfort to your man, 
what’s his name, and desired him to come 
out here, and bring whatever you may want 
for the next week or two? In the mean 
time, if you will allow Ehrhardt to supply 
you from my wardrobe ” 

Zorndorff, who was excessively vexed at 
what he considered a most untoward inter- 
ruption, made no effort to speak ; but, sign- 
ing to Melanie to answer for him, closed his 
eyes again. 

“My dear Rupert,” she said, somewhat 
petulantly, “ he cannot speak— dare not even 

move how very little you know of 

illness ! ” 

“That’s true,” said Rupert; “but I have 
written to our assistant sufgeon to come and 
spend the night here, and you will allow 
that that was a good idea.” 

“Excellent,” said the President; “for 
Melanie, notwithstanding her reproaches to 


you, is as ignoiant as any of us what to do 
but I hope Dr. Reiner will be here in a short 
time now ; ” and he carefully inspected his 
watch, and began to compute the tune neces- 
sary for a messenger to go and return from 
Exfort. 

Cyrilla, who had gladly made her escape 
into the hall, was soon followed by Rupert, 
who exclaimed: “You have led me a pretty 
dance to-day, Cyrilla ; I prefer in future your 
sitting under the oak tree with Lindesmar, or 
whoever you please. Seriousty, had you not 
written with your own hand that you had 
met Zorndorff, and returned by the lake 
with him, I should still be striding through 
the wood in a state of distraction. The note 
arrived just as one of the gendarmes brought 
me your watch and chain, which had been 
found on the person of that daring villain. 
The very idea of your being even for a mo- 
ment in the power of a robber and murderer 
just escaped from jail is too horrible.” 

“lie terrified me beyond measure,” said 
Cyrilla, with a shudder at the mere recollec- 
tion ; “ but I have almost forgotten my fright 
in subsequent annoyance ; ” and, relating her 
meeting with Zorndorff, she bitterly regret 
ted having so completely lost all presence *>f 
mind. . . 

Rupert laughed, and assured her that 
Zorndorff knew too much of her sex to attach 
the slightest importance to any such demon- 
strations of regard when prompted by terror. 

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” she said, 
reluctantly. 

“ Not a bit of it,” said Rupert ; “ I never 
in my life was so embraced as by a young 
girl who took refuge -with me from the 
growls of a cross okl Newfoundland dog. 
She thanked me, too,, with floods of tears for 
my protection; but when I chanced to see 
her a few days afterwards, she had not the 
slightest recollection ‘of me ! ” 

“ 0, I can understand that perfectly,” said 
Cyrilla ; “ and if by any good chance I had 
found a stranger at the lake to-day, I should 
have got over my embarrassment with a few 

words of apology But Count Zorndorfl 

has the unfortunate idea that I still like 
him, and I hoped to have convinced him by 
my manner and not by words that such was 
no longer the case.” 

“There is no use in thinking about it, at 
all events,” said Rupert; “and you have 
plenty of time to commence a new line of 
operations, as he will scarcely leave us for 
two or three weeks.” 

“You do not seem to apprehend any dan 
ger,” observed Cyrilla. 

“ Not much ; I remember his having an 
attack of precisely the same nature ten years 
ago, just after an unpleasant affair with a 
student of the name of Maier. His natural 
inclinations are rather indolent, and his 
habits luxurious in an unusual degree ; but 
when suffering from any kind of anxiety or 
perplexity, he suddenly commences taking 
the most violent exercise, hoping, perhaps, 
that fatigue of body may blunt the sense of 
mental uneasiness. The change, however, 
is too sudden, and generally injures his 
health in some way or other. His being 




C YRILLA 


159 


here will not, I hope, be very disagreeable 
to you; Melanie can take care of him, and 
Julie de Lindesmaj devote herself to his 
amusement, so that we shall in fact have 
nothing to do with nim ; and at all events 
you know the President was determined to 
have him here next week. But I see you 
are shivering in your wet dress, and will not 
detain you any longer.” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

For some days Zorndorh was completely 
conflhed to his room, and though immediate- 
ly pronounced out of danger, extreme tran- 
quillity was necessary for his recovery. His 
first excursions were confined to the dining 
and breakfast rooms, which were on the 
ground-floor and near his apartment; and, 
tired of his solitude, perhaps also mindful of 
yrilla’s matutinal habits, lie one morning 
appeared in the breakfast-room, at an unusu- 
ally early hour, found her as he had expect- 
ed, but, standing with her at the open win- 
dow, were two children, a boy and girl of 
about teir.and eleven years old, of whose 
arrival he had heard during liis illness, and 
about whose names there had been some 
jesting in his room. They were Rupert’s 
godchildren, Rupert and Rupertina ; and, to 
prevent confusion, it had been found neces- 
sary to adopt the nursery diminutive for the 
boy, and call him Pertl, while the two first 
syllables of his sister’s name being dispensed 
with altogether, she was by universal consent 
called Tina. 

Pertl and Tina were two clear-eyed, red- 
cheeked honest-looking children, not at all 
calculated to interest Zorndorff, who indeed 
scarcely bestowed a glance on them, but de- 
liberately fixed his eyes on a very young 
man who sat alone at the breakfast-table, de- 
vouring rolls and coffee with a velocity per- 
fectly inconceivable to Zorndorff, who, even 
in his student days, had been a most deliber- 
ate and delicate eater. Now, this young 
man, though a stranger to him, was evident- 
ly very much at home at Freilands, and, in 
fact, he had been some weeks there ; but, as 
he spent his days chiefly with the game- 
keeper, and his evenings in looking over 
books of engravings, his advent had been 
hitherto unnoticed. Dark-haired, dark-com- 
plexioned, and heavy-featured, with a figure 
short, broad-shouldered, and muscular, his 
appearance would have been decidedly vul- 
gar, had it not been for an indescribable ease 
of manner that more than concealed the 
elumsiness of his proportions, and the slight 
degree of bashfulness incident to his years. 
He finished his breakfast apparently undis- 
turbed by ZorndorfT s presence and observant 
eyes, rose, slung his pouch over his per- 
fectly well-appointed shooting dress, fumbled 
in one of his numerous pockets for a dog- 
call, selected a cigar from a very ample case, 
and nodding familiarly to Cyrilla and the 
children, was about to leave the room when 
Rupert entered. 

“ Why, Co ;rad,” he said, with gome sur- 


prise, “you are getting _ater and later every 
day, it seems. Ha/e you and Cyrilla been 
talking again about that object of your 
mutual dislike, our aunt in Salzburg ? Zorn- 
dorff, I am glad to see you are able to break- 
fast with us. Allow me to introduce my 
cousin Walden to you, my heir-apparent, as 
I am his, should we decide on leading a 
life of celibacy. We are,” he continued 
laughingly, placing his arm on his cousin’s 
shoulder, “ we are an interesting pair ; at 
least, Melanie says so in some very pretty 
lines which she wrote the other day about 
our being the only sons of our parents, the 
last of our respective lines, alike holding 
fiefs which return to the crown should we 
die unmarried ; and having every right, in that 
case, to the melancholy sepulchral distinc- 
tion of reversed arms upon our tombstones ! 
Do you remember, Conrad, how annoyed she 
was at my saying that I considered a re- 
versed torch infinitely more significant ? ” 

“I was not aware of the singular similar- 
ity of your positions,” said Zorndorff, “or 
that the Waldens of Waldenburg were also 
reduced to one representative.” 

“That is what makes us interesting,” said 
Rupert; “if it were not for that, the re- 
versed arms, and Melanie’s poem about u^ 
we are a couple of as common-place fellows 
as could be found on a fine summer morning 
like this. By the by, Conrad, you need not 
expect to find me either on the moors or at 
the marsh to-day. I shall scarcely get beyond 
the music-room, as the day after to-morrow 
our opera is to be performed before a tolera- 
bly numerous audience, and I don't choose 
to disgrace myself. In case you are disposed 
to be civil, you may come back atone o’clock 
to serve as walking-stick to Cyrilla.” 

“May I?” asked the young man, turning 
eagerly bade, and standing with the half 
open door in his hands — “May I ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Cyrilla, smiling ; “but 1 
choose to have you without either gun or 
dog, meerschaum or cigar.” 

“She is kindly endeavouring to civilize 
you,” cried Rupert, laughing; “and if any 
one can make you get over your dread of 
womankind, it will be Cyrilla. You are 
not afraid of her now, are you ? ” 

. “Afraid of me!” repeated Cyrilla, t shak- 
ing her head incredulously ; “0 no, it is my 
fate to fear others, but never to be feared 
myself.” 

“You are liked all the better for that, I 
suspect,” said Rupert; “at least 1 can an- 
swer for my own sex. Gentleness and*timid- 
ity in woman are as much admired by us, 
as strength arid courage on our side are 
esteemed by you.” 

“ Perhaps so,” she rejoined ; “but I would 
willingly dispense with your admiration, fot 
the comfort and advantage of having a little 
more courage.” 

“ I wish,” said Rupert, in a low voice, as 
he leaned out of the window with her, “I 
wish you had courage to free yourself from 
the trammels of — that man, who is undoubt- 
edly watching us just now.” 

“Don’t speak of him, dear Rupert,” she 
answered with a look «f alarm. 


160 


CYRIL LA. 


** Only let me ask you one question,” he 
continued in a whisper; “when you forbid 
my interference in this matter, were you 
wholly influenced bv fears of the conse- 
quences to yourself? ” 

“ Oh no,” she answered quickly ; “ there 
were many other considerations quite strong 
enough to impose silence on me. The happi- 
ness, and even safety, of those I most love, 

might become endangered, and ” 

‘‘Ah,” cried Rupert, interrupting her; 
44 that is what I have long wished to ascer- 
tain — what I have suspected from your de- 
termination not to consult me on this occa- 
sion. You dread, perhaps, a quarrel be- 
tween Zorndorff and me. Let me assure 
you that all such fears are needless. I am 
no duellist — abhor the custom, and have 
never been drawn into any thing of the kind 
in my life; but even were it otherwise, 
Zorndorff is not likely to imagine that the 
way to obtain' your pardon or regain your 
affection is by taking the life of your nearest 
relation! Believe me, no provocation will 
ever induce him to do anything likely to 
lace an insurmountable obstacle to the ful- 
lrnent of this confounded engagement.” 
Cyrilla felt how just this reasoning was, 
how applicable, had the case been precisely 
as she had represented it to him ; but Zorn- 
dorff was more at liberty than Rupert sus- 

f >eeted, and she saw with regret that the 
atter, although he had hitherto faithfully 
kept his promise of non-intervention, was 
now but too evidently irritated by his rival’s 
presence, and already began to chafe under 
the restraint imposed on him. Notwithstand- 
ing all his peaceful professions, and her 
knowledge of the wariness of Zorndorffs 
character, she dreaded too much her cousin’s 
natural impetuosity of temper, ehrunk from 
/he burst of anger which would inevitably 
follow his hearing of the insult which had 
been offered to one of his family — remem- 
bered Melanie’s not unfounded dread of the 
President’s anger, shuddered at the idea of 
being in the end, perhaps, claimed by Zorn- 
dorff as his wife ; and came to the conclusion 
that but one line of conduct remained for 
her, that of formally resigning Rupert at 
once, without reserve and for ever. As these 
thoughts passed through her mind, she leaned 
still further out of the window, bending 
down her head, in the hope that the long 
ringlets might conceal her tearful eyes from 
him ; but she found it impossible to utter a 
word, until after a pause he added earnestly, 
44 You Understand me, Cyrilla? ” 

44 Perfectly.” 

44 1 did not mean to distress you ; but I 
thought it just possible you might be embar- 
rassed by unnecessary anxiety on my ac- 
count. Women sometimes have rather fan- 
tastical notions about such things.” 

The sound of people entering the room, 
and voices he did not expect to hear, made 
him half turn round ; and he was about to 
leave the window, when Cyrilla regained his 
attention by saying hurriedly, “Rupert,, this 
state of things cannot continue any longer ; 
the indefinite engagement so generously re- 
newed by you must end. I am now perfectly 


convinced of the impossibility of its contin- 
uance, and as I dare not tell }'ou what yon 
have a right to know ” 

“ I shall not ask you again,” he said, inter- 
rupting her good-humouredly ; “ only let ma 
assure you that my question was not prompt- 
ed either by distrust or unjustifiable curi- 
osity.” 

“ L T njustifiable curiosity ! ” repeated Ma- 
dame de Bellegarde, placing herself between 
them. “ What on earth are you two talking 
about ? ” 

“Unjustifiable curisity,” answered Rupert, 
laughing; “but what a famous idea this is 
of coming here to breakfast, — I wish you 
would do so every morning — Is Bellegarde 
with you ? ” 

“Yes, and Julie. It was she who made us 
turn out so early.” 

Julie was already seated at the breakfast 
table beside Zorndorff, compelling him to 
talk about his illness ; and then declaring 
repeatedly, and with jesting significance, that 
she thought “ he looked remarkably well.” 

Yirginie’s little boy, the moment he en- 
tered the room, sprang towards Rupert ; the 
other two children showed every inclination 
to get into his pockets, so very closely they 
drew their chairs to his, — all three equally 
intent on monopolizing his attention, while 
he was by the others supposed rather unrea- 
sonably to be able to bear a part in the con- 
versation going on about him. 

The President was an unsociable compan- 
ion at breakfast ; he ate slowly and at inter- 
vals, his eyes intently fixed on the pages of 
some newspaper, literary journal, or pam- 
phlet; and when he spoke his words were 
ever a continuation of the thoughts sug- 
gested by his reading. Unconscious or un- 
heedful of the din ot merry voices around 
him, he turned to Rupert and observed, “ It 
seems after all, Rupert, that the latest discov- 
eries in agricultural chemistry have raised 
very just doubts as to the success of any 
attempts at the cultivation of moorland such 
as yours.” 

“I thought,” said Rupert, looking up, 
“that was your opinion also when you 
approved of my plan of progressive turf- 
cutting as a means of subsistence for my 
colonists.” 

“Why, yes — partly — the removal of the 
turf has been recommended, as it is too dcfi 
cient in mineral elements for the growth of 
grain of any description ; but since we have 
ascertained that your subsoil is composed of 
quartz, gravel, and ” 

“ O,” cried Rupert, 44 it will be long enough 
before we reach the subsoil, the average 
depth of bog is full forty feet ! They say, 
however, that the marsh when drained prem- 
ises better things. I heard yesterday that 
the upper lake can be reduced to a mere 
pond in a very few years. My dear boy,” he 
continued in a low voice to Pertl, 44 the ponies 
are not mine ; but if you ask my cousin 
Cyrilla to lend you one of them, I am sure 
she will have no objection.” 

“ I am glad, however,” observed Zorndorff, 
44 that the antiquated notion of draining and 
planting has been abandoned.” 


C Y RILL A. 


m 


“Not quite,” said Rupert; “for, besides 
the correction of the river, there are to be 
canals for the turf-boats, and, wherever trees 
are likely to thrive, plantations also.” 

“ Which will require a century to grow,” 
rejoined Zorndorff; “to say nothing of the 
certain losses in the first instance from 
frosts.” 

Pertl slightly shook Rupert’s arm to gain 
his attention, and whispered, “ lie said he 
could teach rae to ride in a fortnight.” 

“Who?” 

“ Your own groom.” 

“I don’t choose you to learn from my 
groom. You must ask the Stallmeister to 
take you with him when he rides out in the 
morning.” 

“ But the Herr Stallmeistdr does not like 
children ; he — he — calls us brats ” 

“You said,” whispered Tina, “that you 
would take me to the island to see the cow.” 

“ If there were any chance hereafter of 
producing an artificial alluvion — ” began the 
President. 

“ Scarcely to be thought of,” said Rupert ; 
“ the river lias very little fall, and carries no 
elime whatever.” 

“l)u sucre , da sucre / ” cried little Alphonse, 
seizing Rupert’s mustacliios, and pulling, his 
head towards him. 

“You little monkey!” he exctoimed, 
laughingly, strew*ing the contents of the 
nearest sugar basin on the table before him. 

Virginie protested it would ruin the child’s 
teeth ; and while Rupert was playfully re- 
minding her that she had judiciously quieted 
his screams the day before with chocolate 
bon bons, Mr. de Bellegarde called out from 
the other end of the table : “ I say, Adler- 
kron, excuse my curiosity, but I really should 
like to know what you are going to do with 
this famous bog of yours? Every one talks, 
but no one knows anything about it.” 

“ And yet it is a very simple affair,” said 
Rupert ; “I have decided in favour of Vehn 
colonies, which have been found to answer 
so well in Friesland and Holland for more 
tli an two centuries.” 

“Never heard of them in all my life,” 
observed Mr. de Bellegarde. 

“Nor I either,” said Rupert, “until a sort 
of personal interest — the hope of gain — and 
perhaps some other motives, made me in- 
quire, read, and at last consult people 
learned in such matters.” 

“Well, and these Vehn colonies are some- 
thing very extraordinary, are they?” 

“Not at all. A Vehn or Fen colony is 
neither more nor less than rows of colonists’ 
houses, built along a canal navigable for 
turf-boats. The sale of the turf must be 
made certain, the communication easy, drain- 
age and irrigation directed by an overseer 
who understands his business, and a tract of 
land given to each colonist, with some advan- 
tages which it is not necessary to enumerate.” 

“But I don’t exactly see how these colonies 
are likely to increase your wealth so enor- 
mously as people here suppose,” observed 
Mr. de Bellegarde. 

“Nor I either for the next ten or twenty 
years,” answered Rupert ; “ but it is very 

11 


evident that, in the meantime, the sale of 
turf will prevent me from sustaining much 
loss — the people are employed, and . . 

“Ah altogether philanthropical! ” 

“ Not quite,” said Rupert, colouring a good 
deal, as he rose from the breakfast table ; “ I 
have computed outlay and income with a 
good deal of accuracy ; and if the matter in 
any way interest you, you can inspect the 
plans, estimates, and calculations at your 
leisure.” 

“ No, thank you. I know nothing what- 
ever of business, and find it hard enough 
work turning my French francs, when I have 
them, into German florins.” 

Madame de Bellegarde’s ostensible motive 
for coming to Freilands that morning was to 
make inquiries about the Peusionat at Stras- 
burg, to w'hieh she intended to send her 
daughter Hortense : her real one, however, 
was the knowledge that a music-room rehear- 
sal of the opera w r as to take place, which 
w r ould bring a crowd of gay people together; 
and, as she privately observed to her sister, 
“What was the use of moping at home, when 
one could find amusement elsewhere,” — to 
which Julie had unhesitatingly answered, 
“None whatever. You may be sure that 
Klemmhein will be there ; and, I daresay, I 
shall have Zorndorff all to myself for an hour 
or two.” 

And she had him all to herself; for, imme- 
diately after entering the large drawing 
room, an almost complete dispersion of the 
party took place. The President went to 
Exfort, Rupert to his st'^dy, Mr. de Belle- 
garde to smoke under the lime-trees, Cyrilla 
commenced drawing things most incongru- 
ous for the amusement of the children at a 
very distant window r , and Madame de Belle 
garde retired to the balcony with Melanie, 
to make the proposed inquiries about the 
“sound, extensive, and polite education, 
combined with the influences of family and 
home, under the ever-watchful eye of an 
anxious mother, (fee. <fec. <fec.,” to be procured 
on tolerably moderate terms at Strasburg. 

They naturally spoke of “ geography and 
the use of the globes,” although they do not 
form so prominent a part in the printed sys- 
tems of either French or German female 
education as in the “bound English’' one. 
Madame de Bellegarde touched lightly on 
the subject of morals and manners, and then 
listened wfitli suppressed yawns to Melanie’s 
dissertation on religion, as the basis of all 
well-regulated education ; the necessity also 
of exercising the reasoning faculty, forming 
the judgment, cultivating the imagination, 
and encouraging a general taste for libra 
lure, wdiich w r ould afford Hortense herself, 
and those about her, imperceptible but end- 
less sources of interest and enjoyment 1 

“La! Melanie dear,” cried Madame de 
Bellegarde, endeavouring with her small 
hand to cover a mouth which, naturally 
large, assumed hideous proportions when dis- 
tended to a yawn* “I should think all these 
things were included in the board and “'Ag- 
ing, geography, and the use of the globes. 
Only washing and accomplishments ars 
charged extra ; you know* Henri is quite sat- 


or kill a . 


i6* 

isfied with the terms, and intends Hortense 
to learn everything ! ’* 

This was conclusive, and Melanie spoke no 
more of Strasburg or Hortense, but pursued 
the subject she had been discussing, by ex- 
plaining to her listless companion how per- 
fectly she would have educated a daughter 
had she had one ! It may be doubted, whe- 
ther Adrienne paid much attention to the 
description of the fancy education which had 
been destined for fancy’s child — she seemed 
in an unusual degree occupied with the con- 
templation of the scenery, scarcely for a mo- 
ment removing her lorgnette from her eye, 
excepting to rub it with an elaborately em- 
broidered handkerchief, or for the purpose 
of stifling a succession of yawns, which, to 
Melanie’s infinite amusement, she maintained 
proceeded altogether from nervousness. 

“ I do believe,” she said at last, affecting a 
look of surprise, while every trace of weari- 
ness disappeared from both features and per- 
son — ‘*1 do believe there is Ivlemmhein rid- 
ing up to the house, just as if he had any- 
thing to do with the rehearsal. I should 
like to ’know what brings you here to-day ? ” 
she added, throwing a shower of rose-leaves 
on him as he dismounted. 

“ I have come to play audience,” he an- 
swered ; “ invited especially for the purpose, 
t assure you.” 

Soon after, the sound of carriages and the 
clattering of prancing horses became audible, 
and then various well-filled char-a-bancs, ca- 
leches, and phaetons, surrounded by horse- 
men, might be seen dashing forward towards 
the house, and pouring their gay coloured 
contents on the lawn. If the rehearsal of the 
opera had been the main object of the meet- 
ing, it seemed strangely to be forgotten. 
Some stood together talking — some sat down 
under the trees — others walked up and down, 
where the shade was deepest ; and Rupert, 
Melanie, and Cyrilla’s appearance among 
them, seemed so much to add to the loqua- 
city and enjoyment of the assembly, and 
made it so attractive, that Zorndorff and Ju- 
lie de Lindesmar were soon left quite alone 
in the immense apartment, with its deserted 
balcony. The latter, scarcely conscious of 
the little attention bestowed on her, rattled 
on in a manner that might have amused 
Zorndorlf, had not his mind been long com- 
pletely pre-oceupied. With great irritation, 
he had perceived that Cyrilla, during two 
whole hours spent in his immediate vicinity, 
had totally ignored his presence, not as if 
she had been acting a part, or trying to ex- 
asperate him, but with the calm decision of 
a fixed purpose. Speculations about her 
probable motives had sufficed to preserve his 
tranquillity while she was present — directly 
she left the room he became impatient, and 
at last, raising himself with an expression of 
extreme languor, he observed, while walking 
across the room, “ One must be ill, they say, 
in order to appreciate health as it deserves.” 
Th^n stopping before Cyrilla’s table, he be- 
gan to examine the sketches, half pencil, half 
water-colour3, which she had made at the 
desire of the childre i. They were fair spe- 
cimens of drawings done “ to order,” in 


which not alf the artist’s technical talent 
could give an interest to -weak and worthies# 
designs. 

“ I am glad she has begun to draw again,” 
observed Julie, taking up a portfolio that haJ 
escaped Zorndorff s notice; “perhaps, after 
all, she may be induced to finish the aqua- 
relles for the album.” 

“ What album ? ” 

“ 0, 1 thought you knew all about Melanie’s 
lottery for the poOr man who broke his arm 
wh.le repairing the ceiling of one of her 
rooms ! Cyrilla compelled the President to 
take a score of tickets, and he actually won 
the crimson -bound album we had each indi- 
vidually set our hearts upon gaining. It was, 
however, in a fair way of remaining filled 
with pieces of carte-blanche , had she not of- 
fered to furnish it with water-CQlour portraits 
of us all. They are, it is true, little more 
than sketches, but excellent likenesses; and 
she got on with her usual rapidity until' 
Margaret’s death, when she seemed to lose 
all interest in everything. By the by, can 
you tell me why she was in such despair on 
that occasion ? ” 

“ I was not at all aware ” began Zorn- 

dorff, with a look of unfeigned surprise; and 
then he stopped and turned to his companion, 
as if he wished to hear more. 

“0, they did not tell you of it, perhaps; 
but it was odd, to say the least, as she never 
appeared to care for Margaret during her 
lifetime; } 7 et, when she died, her grief for 
her was deep and unfeigned — more so, 1 
strongly suspect, than yours. ” 

“ Mademoiselle ! ” 

“Don’t be offended, my dear Zorndorff. 
Your conduct to your wife was unimpeach- 
able — admirable; but as to wishing her to 
have lived, or regretting her now, you must 
be more or less than man if you can do 
either.” 

“ And yet,” said Zorndorff, bitter!} 7 , “ I have 
done both, though you will not perhaps be- 
lieve me.” 

“ I think it quite possible that you have 
done so. The suddenness of her death, the 
cause, the shock, and all that sort of thing 

But surely you must all along have 

seen that she was dying; and, if you consi 
Jer the matter rationally, you ought rather 
to rejoice at her being spared a continuation 
of h op eless s uffe r i n g. ’ ’ 

Zorndorff did not answer, but he sat dow» 
and deliberately bfegan to draw forth the 
contents of Cyrilla’s portfolio. 

Julie continued: “I can imagine your hav- 
ing a horror of unhealthy nervous women 
now, and hope sincerely that your second 
choice may be more fortunate.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, dryly; “but you 
can scarcely suppose that, after my painful 
experience, I am likely to think of such a 
thing.” 

“So my sister Virginie said when she first 
came from Italy; and yet now ” & 

“ 0 that is merely a revival of old feel- 
ings — quite natural.” 

“ But most absurd,” cried Julie. 

“I cannot agree with you,” said Zorndoff 
calmly. 


cyrilla. 


lb* 


“Of enirse not, because you do not know 
what is going on here. Why, it is the most 
evident thing possible, that Rupert and Cy- 
rilla are engaged to each o ,her months ago.” 

Zorndorff first examined the drawing in 
his hand, then looked up s„owly, and said, “I 
think you are mistaken.” 

“It seems to you a matter of indifference,” 
she observed interrogatively. 

Zorndorff did not choose to answer. He 
placed the drawing in a better light, and 
asked if the flowers round each portrait 
were emblematical ? 

“Most probably, as Cyrilla insists on 
choosing them herself.” 

“I suppose,” he observed, “that I have 
no chance of a place among these portraits.” 

“Not if it had depended on her, I sus- 
pect,” answered Julie. “ But the President, 
fearing that he might not get the portraits 
he most desired to possess, first proposed 
making a list in the order he wished to 
have them ; and when Cyrilla would not 
consent to that arrangement, he wrote the 
names on slips of paper, folded them up, 
and made her promise to let little Alphonse 
draw them for her, like lottery tickets. Your 
name was the first ; and, oddly enough, 
though she refused to ask you to sit to her, 
the likeness is perfect.” 

Zorndorff had no doubt that it was so. 
lie remembered having seen her equally suc- 
cessful when his features were less likely to 
have been engraved on her memory. 

“But Margaret’s picture is the best of all,” 
continued Julie. “ She sat several times, and 
was greatly pleased with the flowers given 
her ...... but perhaps you would rather notr 

see it.” 

Zorndorff held out his hand in silence, and 
then shaded his eyes from the keen inquisi- 
tive glance of his companion, while he con- 
templated the portrait of the features that 
were then mouldering in the grave. 

Julie grew impatient at his silence and 
apparent forgetfulness of her presence. “ Poor 
soul ! ” she exclaimed, endeavouring to take 
the drawing from him — “ Poor soul ! it was 
those well-painted water-lilies that induced 
her to order the beautiful wreaths from Paris 
for her last ball dress. They were exceed- 

ingly becoming too You remember 

them, of course?” 

“ But too well,” answered Zorndorff. 

“Margaret certainly dressed magnificent- 
ly,” said Julie, as if she were bestowing a 
high encomium ; “exquisite and endless va- 
riety ! You must have been immensely splen- 
did in pin-money ! ” 

To this speech Zorndorff deigned no an- 
swer; and she added, “Have you any curios- 
ity to look at your own portrait ? ” 

“ None whatever ; but a good deal to see 
the emblem flowers.” 

“ If you expect a collection of rare exotics, 
you will be disappointed. Cyrilla' only paint 8 
wild-flowers and weeris, which I am not bot- 
anist enough to admire. However, the gar- 
.and that forms your frame is pretty enough, 
md peculiarly fantastic. I believe this 
woody-looking plant, with the reddish flow- 
ers i« called bois genii! ? ” 


“ It is Daphne .” 

“ And this ? ” 

“Rather hard to say,” answered Zorndorff. 
“ There are neither flowers nor berries, but 
the leaves make me suspect it to be Sola* 
num.” 

“ I hate Latin words. Tell me the cornmos 
name, and perhaps I may know it.” 

“The common name is, ‘Deadly Night- 
shade.’ ” 

“La ! how horrible! and yet it looks very 
nice, twisted round the leafless parts of the 
other; and, ‘what’s in a name?’ as Juliet 
says on the balcony.” 

“True,” said Zorndorff, rising. “Beside?, 
this nightshade admits the hope that perhaps 
one of the most useful and excellent of plant? 
may have been intended ; but this third, 
with its baneful berries, can, as emblem, 

mean nothing less than ’’lie put down 

the drawing, and turned away from the 
table. 

“Than wdiat?” asked Julie, following him. 
“ Is it a poisonous plant ? ” 

“ One of the most deadly in our German 
flora.” 

“ Well, certainly that is not very flatter- 
ing. But I am not surprised, as I have long 
perceived that she dislikes you.” 

“Indeed! and in what way was it made 
evident to you ? ” 

“ Why, she can never be induced to name 
you ; and, when others do so, there is a cer- 
tain little haughty look about her head which 
proves to me that she lias not forgotten that, 
three years ago, you you ” 

“What? ” he asked with forced composure. 

“ Deserted her for a richer bride.” 

Zorndorff was for a moment so confounded 
by this answer that Julie, saw her advantage, 
and continued: “If you think that Cyrilla, 
or indeed any woman, is likely to pardon 
such an offence, you are mistaken. We can 
mourn over the want of fortune, resign our- 
selves to the despotic will of a non-consent- 
ing father; but to be deliberately and wil- 
fully forsaken for bank bills and bags of gold 
is too offensively prosaic ever to be forgiven. 
I am convinced that she not only dislikes, but 
has learned to hate you by this time. Why, 
even my brother Victor’s hopes are better 
founded than yours.” 

“Excuse me,” said Zorndorff; “but I do 
not think i ’aid anything about having hopes 
You are combatting a mere supposition.” 

Julie look confused ; but quickly recovei 
ing her self-possession, she said, “I thought 
you asked me to tell you what I had ob- 
served.” 

“ Yes; but your observations cannot prop- 
erly extend to me. We have been too littla 
together lately.” 

“That is true. You have been shamefully 
neglected, and almost forgotten, by every- 
body ! ” said Julie. 

“But not by you!” rejoined ZorndorfY, 
looking up with a mock sentimental air, of 
which she was sufficiently conscious to an- 
swer jestingly : — 

“No; but I must confess that I have not 
had much time to think of you either. Frei 
lands is not a house for reminiscences.” 


164 


CYRILLA. 


“ Rather the contrary,” sard Zorndorff ; “ so 
perhaps you have been occupying yourself 

with thoughts of the future, and that 

stout boy whose acquaintance I made in the 
breakfast-room this morning.” 

“What! Cousin Conrad? the savage! ” 

“And have you made no attempt to civil- 
ize him? It is worth consideration, I assure 
you, for I can give most satisfactory accounts 
of his possessions in flocks, and herds, and 
lands, and fine old castles. You can make 
him anything you please, excepting, perhaps, 
loquacious. Can he talk at all? ” 

“They say he can . • to Cyrilla.” 

“ 0, indeed! ” said Zorndorff, walking into 
the balcony, and then apparently becoming 
so interested in the moving figures beneath, 
that he did not perceive his companion’s 
shrug of the shoulders as she turned away 
and left him to his meditations. A few min- 
utes afterwards, however, a scarcely percep- 
tible step instantly attracted his attention — 
he turned round, and on seeing Yirginie, ad- 
vanced towards her and whispered eagerly : 

“ At last ! have you anything to tell 

me ? ” 

“ More than you will like to hear, I greatly 
fear,” she answered gravely. 

“ Let me know it at once. The purport of 
your words may be of use to me ; but your 
sister has been torturing me to the best of 
her ability, for the last hour, and for no pos- 
sible reason that I can discover.” 

“ Perhaps she has observed what I have 
heard,” said Yirginie. 

“I hope not,” rejoined Zorndorff; “but let 
tne hear all you have to say, and quickly, 
before these people come up stairs to make 
the noise they call music.” 

“I have spoken to Rupert,” said Yirginie, 
and a deep flush passed across her dark fea- 
tures at the recollection of the interview to 
which she alluded, “ and — he — told me — that 
until Cyrilla actually consented to marry you 
— he would not believe that all chance were 
lost for him ! ” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Zorndorff, contracting his 
brows; “that does not sound well. Adler- 
kron is no coxcomb, and would not have said 
even that, vague as it is, without ” 

“Without*” said Yirginie, harshly, “with- 
out being pretty sure that she was not un- 
favourably disposed towards him. I have no 
doubt ’that this is the case, and should say 
that you had little reason to hope, if you had 
not told me of her promise to you. Can you 
not insist on the fulfilment of it as soon as 
decency will permit ? ” 

“No,” answered Zorndorff, thoughtfully; 
“Ido not wish to proceed to extremities.” 

“ But are you sure she will consider it so 
very binding? ” asked Yirginie. 

“ On that subject I have no doubts,” he an- 
swered. 

“Then persist in your claim courageously 
— she is very timid, and will yield to neces- 
sity. Let it be your care hereafter to pre- 
vent her from regretting her compliance.” 

“Your advice is pleasav.t,” said Zorndorff, 
“but I dare not follow it.” 

“And why not? ” 

* Tou t sister tells me that Cyrilla already 


hates me. What r Tospect cf happiness would 
there be in such a e«6e for either of us ? f> 

“ Ah, bah ! you don’t believe that she 

hates you.” 

“ Why, no. I flatter myself that she is 
only angry, but with so much right that I 
should be sorry to give her further cause or 
displeasure.” 

“ She cannot be seriously displeased — 
women pardon so easily all that undoubtedly 
proceeds from excess of admiration and love^’ 

“ But Cyrilla is so much accustomed to be 
admired and loved,” rejoined Zorndorff, with 
a sigh, “ that she scarcely thanks people for 
a homage they cannot help paying to her 
charming person, and still more charming 
manners ! ” 

“ So you intend to resign her without even 
a struggle ? ” 

“Never!” cried Zorndorff, vehemently 
“ never but with life ! ” 

“ I do not understand you,” said Yirginie, 
with affected coldness: “you are not suffi- 
ciently explicit for me to be of use to you yso 
I think we had better dissolve our partner- 
ship.” 

“ By no means,” cried Zorndorff ; “ we can 
still be of the most essential service to each 
other, but our efforts ought henceforward to 
be directed towards Adlerkron — he must re- 
sign C}'rilla.” 

“He will not,” said Yirginie, despondingly* 

“ He must ! ” cried Zorndorff. “ I wish,” 
he added, after a moment’s consideration, “} 
wish I had allowed you to mention this prom 
ise to him, if you considered it necessary.” 

“I did speak of it,” said Yirginie, “and 
discovered at once that he knew all about 
it,” 

“You do not mean to say that Cyrilla lias- 
told him ? ” cried Zorndorff, starting up and 
exhibiting a degree of anxiety and emotion 
that astonished his companion. 

“ If she have,” answered Yirginie, “ I am 
convinced it was on condition of inviolable 
secresy on his part.” 

“No conditions would bind him under such 
circumstances,” said Zorndorff ; “ her con 
fe'ssion once made .... all is lost! ” 

“Confession!” repeated Virginie, with s o 
much intense curiosity legible in her features, • 
that Zorndorff made an effort to conceal his 
uneasiness, and sat down beside her with 
forced calmness. 

“ Were she to confess the exact purport of 
the promise,” lie said, after a pause, “ Adler- 
kron would -consider it little less than an in- 
sult offered to his family.” 

“And,” said Yirginie, sarcastically, “and 
might demand what is called satisfaction ? 
Rest assured, if there be but a shadow of a 
danger of that kind, Cyrilla will never be 
tray you.” 

“You do not understand me,” cried Zorn 
dorff, impatiently, “my life is in far less dan- 
ger than my honour, and all I hold most dear 
on earth.” • 

* Will you trust me ? Can I in any way be 
of use to you ? ” she asked, in a low insinu- 
ating voice. 

“ N-o,” he answered moodily “ I will leave 
my fate in CyrTla’e hands.” 


CYRILLA. 


165 


“1 should rather suppose hers was in 
yours,” observed Virginie.”* 

“It would be if she resembled you,’ he 
replied; “but I have discovered that the 
word love will not induce her, like most of 
your sex, to submit to tyranny in all its va- 
rious forms.” 

“Asserting one’s rights is not tyranny,” 
retorted Virginie. “You say she is engaged 
to you ; but if you expect her hereafter to be 
your wife, you are very wrong to leave her 
so long unclaimed, the object of adulation to 
three or four men, any one of whom might 
be feared as a rival by a much vainer man 
than you.” 

She left the balcony unheeded by Zorn- 
dorff, whose eyes followed Cyrilla, as she 
sauntered towards the lake with the two 
children of Conrad and Waldenburg. 

+ 

CHAPTER XL IV. 

A pleasant excitement and cheerful commotion 
pervaded the household of Freilands during the 
whole of the day preceding the representation 
of the opera, which had latterly, with its scenery, 
dresses, and music, occupied almost exclusively 
the thoughts of its inhabitants and their imme- 
diate friends. It was the Matrimonio Segreto 
of Cimarosa, an opera that possesses the im- 
mense advantage for amateurs of requiring but 
six performers and no change of scene — one 
gorgeously furnished saloon of the rich mer- 
chant Geronimo, with its five doors, being suf- 
ficient for all the purposes of the slight intrigue, 
which is altogether based on the fact of the 
merchant’s younger daughter, Carolina, having 
advisedly or unadvisedly privately married her 
father’s head clerk, and being in consequence 
piui ed in rather a perplexing position, when a 
Count Robison e, who comes to the house as 
suitor to her elder sister, inconsiderately prefers 
her, creates endless confusion, and provokes the 
jealousy of the sister, in a manner calculated to 
try and exhibit that young lady’s temper more 
amusingly than advantageously. All of course 
ends satisfactorily. Papa forgives the Matri- 
monio Segreto ; the Count, with a magnanimity 
little practised in real life, immediately offers 
his hand to the turbulent sister: father and 
widowed aunt embrace and bless promiscuous- 
ly ; and a sextette, with elaborate triplet pas- 
sages, forms the conclusion. The becoming 
costumes, with powder, patches, and paint, 
embroidered coats, swords, and silk stockings, 
enhance the charm of every playful movement, 
heighten the effect of every ludicrous scene, 
and, pleasing the eye, unconsciously prepare 
the ear to receive eagerly those tones which 
the Emperor Leopold requested to hear twice 
m one day — perhaps the only instance on 
record of an encored opera. 

Much to the President’s annoyance, Melanie 
tnd Rupert took it into their heads that the 
company invited should appear in the same 
costume as the players. It was in vain his 
Excellency had grumbled and muttered about 
silly fancies, provoking whims, unreasonable 
vanity of women, who only wanted an oppor- 
tunity to exhibit all their laces and ’ewels at 


once, die., <fcc.” The idea was carried into exe- 
cution, and on the evening appointed the 
guests poured into the rooms, without excep- 
tion, according to “order,” for the “request” 
in the invitation was little else, it being well 
known that even Zorndorff’s entreaty to be 
exempted from the mummery, as he was in 
mourning, and only intended to join them for a 
short time, had been unheeded. Unwillingly 
enough, he had complied with the requisition ; 
but his wish to see and be near, perhaps also 
to watch, Cyrilla for a couple of hours, over 
came his repugnance, and he appeared in wha^ 
may have been the mourning of those times, 
which, serving to make him even more distin- 
guished looking than usual, he was universally 
allowed to be the handsomest man present. 

That Cyrilla would look well, no one had 
doubted ; that the dress would be unusually 
advantageous to her slight figure, had been ex- 
pected ; but that her appearance should be so 
unusually brilliant, caused some surprise, and 
much speculative conversation. 

“ It is the fairness of her complexion,” said one. 

“ Rather the delicacy of her features,” sug- 
gested another. 

“No such thing: it is merely the choice of 
colours, and the quantity of lace. Nothing so 
becoming as lace for old or young.” 

“ Well, Klemmhein, what do you flunk of her 
to-night ? ” asked Lindesmar, half triumphantly. 

“ She is lovely — but that sort of dress makes 
them all look well.” 

“ Cannot agree with you,” rejoined Lindes- 
mar ; “ some look vulgar ; and some put me 
provokiugly in mind of Hogarth’s pictures.” 

“ Not surely the Countess Ealkenstein ! ” said 
Klemmhein, half interrogatively, as he followed 
the direction of Lindesmar’s eyes. 

“ 0 no, she always looks like a goddess. 
Erato even in rococo ! By the by, if we keep 
near her when w^e go to the theatre, she has 
promised us places in the stage-box.-’ 

The rooms had filled, and the various dancing 
engagements were being “ booked,” with ail 
the business-like precision of a German ball, 
when the summons to the theatre took place ; 
and then the gay crowd ascended the stairs in 
procession, filling the numerous benches and 
galleries in a few minutes. Zorndorff quietly 
established himself behind Cyrilla’s chair, mak- 
ing no effort to attract her attention; which 
Lindesmar seemed disposed to monopolize al- 
together : she was not even aware of his vicini- 
ty until Madame de Bellegarde, between the 
acts, turning to him, observed: “The first cast 
of the opera was infinitely better — Cyrilla ought 
to have played the part of Carolina.” 

“ I think,” he answered, evasively, “ the 
Viscountess is surpassing herself to-night ; she 
is evidently playing con amove .” 

“ Rather too much so,” said Klemmhein, in 
a whisper only audible to Zorndorff and Cyrilla, 
“ one might really fancy her Adlerkron’s wife. 
I had no idea she was so strong in the tendrt 
line.” 

“ Virginie would have played the other 
sister better,” continued Madame de Belle- 
garde ; “ figure, face, voice, every thing would 
have answered, but she and Rupert chose to 
be together, and opposition was useless.” 

“ 1 think,” said Melanin, “we may be quii« 


166 


C Y R I L L A. 


satisfied with Julie's acting of the part, and 
with her singing too.* 

u 0, as far as acting goes,” said Madame de 
Bellegarde, “ we have all talent enough ; but 
Julie is not a good musician, and has had an 
infinity of trouble in learning her part. Do 
look at Rupert peeping out from behind the 
curtain, and makiug faces at us! I dare say 
they are uncommonly merry in their green- 
room, as they call it ; and I must sav it was 
very arbitrary of the President to forbid visiters 
between the acts;’ 

“I think he was right,” observed Zorudorff; 
“ for one half of the audience would have con- 
sidered themselves privileged to go there ; the 
other would have been offended, if not invited ; 
and great confusion and delays innumerable 
would have been the consequence.” 

“ J ulie told me,” said Madame de Bellegarde, 
“ that they amuse themselves keeping up their 
characters behind the scenes, composing recita- 
tive of the most ludicrous kind ; and that Ru- 
pert and Virgiuie are infinitely more entertain- 
ing there than on the stage ! ” 

“ I can easily imagine that,” said Lindesmar ; 
“ for it strikes me that a private marriage, 
either on or off the stage, is usually more a 
sentimental than a comical affair; and so Vir- 
ginie and even Rupert seem to consider it.” 

“ Yet, it is a capital subject for a comedy,” 
observed Kleinmhein. 

“ But has been used just as often for tragedy,” 
rejoined Lindesmar. “ Nevertheless, there is 
something attractive in the position, and I 
shouldn’t at all mind playing first lover my- 
self.” 

“ On or off the stage ? ” asked Klemmhein, 
laughing. 

“ Off — if I could find any one willing to take 
me, without waiting for this confounded place 
at the Exchequer, which my grandfather makes 
a sine qua non. I can imagine nothing more 
delightful than the interesting difficulties and 
mysteries of such a connexion ; not to mention 
the glorious certainty of unbounded devotion 
that would be mine ! A woman, who, in this 
land of legal formalities, consents to a private 
marriage, gives undoubtedly the most prodi- 
gious proof of unlimited confidence that ” 

“ She gives,” cried his sister, interrupting 
him ; “the most prodigious proof of unlimited 
folly of which she can be guilty. What settle - 
merits could she ever- hope to obtain in such a 
case ?” 

Zorndorff, with contracted brows and a ges- 
ture of impatience, moved his chair towards 
Melanie’s ; and Lindesmar no sooner perceived 
him speaking to. her, than, under pretence of 
examining Cyrilla’s fan, he leaned forward, and 
in the lowest possible whisper, poured forth a 
voluble speech, the purport of which Zorndorff 
in vain endeavoured to catch. The answer, 
however, was laconic and audible ; it was the 
one word, “Nonsense,” which seemed rather 
to amuse than annoy him ; and he continued 
to talk on in precisely the same manner, while 
Cyrilla deliberately levelled her opera-glass 
successively along the rows of spectators, not 
for one moment turning round until the curtain 
again rose. 

The opera ended. Unbounded applause 
followed ; and immediately afterwards the 


theatre began to tmpn as rapidly as it hacf 
filled. Zorndorff was the last to move : as he 
did so, he perceived that Cyrilla, in her haste 
to pass him with the others, had forgotten he: 
fan — he had scarcely raised it from the chaii 
when Lindesmar came back quite breathless, — 

“ Oh, you’ve found it, have you ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, give it to me, like a good fellow — it 
can be of no possible use to you.” • 

“ Or to you either, I should suppose,” said 
Zorndorff, haughtily, as he passed him. 

“ Come, don’t pretend to misunderstand me, 
Zorndorff ; I make no secret of my devotion to 
Mademoiselle d’Adlerkron ; and you see. . .” 

“ I saw quite enough,” said Zorudorff, sarcas 
tically, “ to make me suspect that she does not 
care much either for you or your devotion.” 

“ Of that you must allow me to be the, best 
judge,” retorted Lindesmar ; “ she has now 
sent me here for that fan, wdiich she greatly 
values, as it is a present from the President; 
and, wdthout vanity, I may say she would 
prefer having it brought to her by me rather 
than by you.” 

“We shall try that,” said Zorndorff. “Tell 
her I have got it, and will either give it to her- 
self or to you, whichever she may desire.” 

Lindesmar seemed to consider the matter 
not v T orth further discussion, and ran down the 
stairs. Zorndorff w r as still absently playing 
w ith the costty toy when he was joined by the 
joyous and self-satisfied aefors and actresses, 
on their w r ay to the drawing-room. As they 
entered, Julie turned to him, and said, “ I hope, 
for once in your life, Count Zorudorff, you ad- 
mired me to-night ? Did my performance 
meet your approbation ? ” 

“ It was perfect — only equalled by ” he 

looked significantly towards Virginie, who 
smiled, and then moved on to receive the adu- 
lation show r ered upon her for her really faultless 
performance. 

“ Count Zorndorff,” said Cyrilla, as she 
passed him on her way to Rupert, “ I hear you 
have found my fan, may I beg ” 

He held it towards her, but every effort tc 
catch her eye was fruitless. She evidently 
w r as determined to attach no importance to the 
trifling circumstance, and received it much as 
she would have done had it been brought her 
by a groom of the chambers. Zorndorff, not a 
little mortified, but unwilling that she should 
perceive it, leaned over the back of a chair 
that was near the causeuse on wdiich she aud 
Rupert sat dow r n, and listened attentively to 
their conversation, while his eyes wandered 
apathetically to the other end of the room. 

“ I hope, Rupert,” Cyrilla began, unfastening 
her ball-book from the fan she had jus 4 re- 
gained, and placing the tiny page before i ini, 
“ I hope you have not made any engagements, 
for I have relied on you for our usual dances, 
and refused to give them to any one else.” 

“ That is provoking,” said Rupert, bending 
over the tablets, “ for Virginie * id she wmuld 
like for once to dance the Mazurka w ith me — 
but I can easily explain and arrange with h*r.’ 

“ No,” said Cyrilla, “ you must not think of 
such a thing — it is of no consequence.” 

“ I had a sort of idea this might happen,* 
said Rupert, “but I did not like to say any 


CYRILLA. 


thing, for you know,” he added, laughing, “ I 
belong to Yirginie, in a sort of way, for this 
evening.” 

Cyrilla drew her pencil through his name. 

“ Let us send for Conrad ; he will be de- 
lighted,” suggested Rupert, 

“ O,” replied Cyrilla, smiling, “ he has gone 
to bed hours ago ; his appearance so alarmed 
him when he was dressed, that no one could 
induce him to take a step beyond the door of 
his room.” 

“ What ! did he not even go to the theatre ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ I flatter myself he has had rather a loss. 
Our opera went off famously — don’t you think 
eo ?” 

“ Could not have been better.” 

“I never saw Yirginie look so well,” said 
Rupert : “ and she certainly is a most perfect 
actress.” 

“And you,” rejoined Cyrilla, “are, to say 
the least, a — very tolerable actor.” 

“ Playing with her would almost inspire an 
automaton,” said Rupert. “ Scarcely any one 
fpe could have made my dull part endurable to 

“ I can easily imagine that,” observed Zorn- 
dorff, with unusual emphasis ; “ there is some- 
thing very irresistible about her altogether. 
That she possessed feeling, energy, and passion, 
I already knew; but that she could be so 
charmingly naive and playful was a surprise 
for which I was not at all prepared.” 

“ Nor I either,” said Rupert ; “ and though 
I admire Yirginie as much as you or any one 
can do, and grant that there are moments when 
she is perfectly fascinating, I find, on reflection, 
her extraordinary versatility more adapted to 
public than private life. A too perfect actress 
inspires a certain degree of mistrust. One fears 
she may use her power of feigning and moving 
the passions off as well as on the stage ; and it 
might at last be difficult to discover the line 
where nature ends and art begins.” 

Cyrilla took a long breath and smiled appro- 
bation of this opinion ; it was perhaps this 
which induced Zorndorff to continue the conver- 
sation. 

“ Actresses who act when off the stage,” he 
said, “ are by no means so common as is ge- 
nerally supposed. I have known many who 
were infinitely more natural in their general 
manners than those who, sitting in their boxes 
as spectators, gratuitously and incessantly acted 
for any or every one who chose to look at 
them.” 

“ I believe we have a good many tolerable 
actors and actresses in common everyday life,” 
said Rupert. “ With regard to professional 
people, your experience has been so much more 
extensive than mine, that I am quite willing 
to believe anything you say about them.” 

There was something so unusually indiffe- 
rent in Rupert’s manner, that had Zorndorff 
not had a motive for covertly praising Yirginie 
he would not have spoken again. “ I may be 
singular in the idea,” he said, “but do not he- 
sitate to say, that I think it not only possible, 
but probable, that those who make it their 
study, and have the power to represent the 
feelings and passions, if at all successful in 


16*1 

their efforts, must possess both in an eminent 
degree” 

“ Are you talking of Yirginie now ? ’ asked 
Rupert, carelessly. 

“ The remark applies to her, or to ai y good 
actor or actress you choose to think of. Why 
may we not suppose that the feelings of play- 
ers insensibly become stronger by practice, a& 
well as the sinews of a wrestler’s arm or a 
dancer’s legs ? ” 

“ What a funny idea ! ” exclaimed Madame 
de Bellegarde, who just then joined them. 

Rupert showed a decided disinclination to 
the discussion of either feelings or sinews ; he 
whispered a few words to Cyrilla, and then 
they walked towards the ball-room together. 

“ Pray go on,” said Madame de Bellegarde, 
playing with her fan, while she nodded and 
smiled to her different acquaintances as they 
passed, — “ Pray go on ; I like so much to hear 
you talk.” 

“ About what ? ” asked Zorndorff. 

“ The dancer’s legs, and all that.” 

. “ Rather let us go and look at those now 
dancing.” 

“ I thought you had made a vow not to enter 
the ball-room ? ” 

“ I ! — make a vow ! — For what reason ? ” 

“ 0, Pm sure I don’t know. — On account of 
your mourning they said.” 

“ Who said ? ” 

“ I don’t remember ; but even if I did, 1 
should not tell you — you look so magnificently 
ill-tempered to-night. Let me take you to Me- 
lanie, who has chosen the ball-room doorway to 
make her usual observations on the follies of 
this wicked world, even while she so largely 
partakes of them. Doesn’t she look uncom- 
monly handsome to-night? Positively quite 
youthful ! Powder and rouge make people 
appear at least ten years younger. I wish 
both would come into fashion again, don’t 
you ? ” 

“ No!” he answered, turning to Melanie, be- 
side whom he stood silently looking at the 
moving throng for some minutes. 

Madame de Bellegarde, after having curiously 
but vainly followed the direction of their eyes, 
and examined their countenances, said she 
should rather like to know their thoughts, 
thougli she more than suspected they were of a 
not particularly cheerful description. 

“ Mine were rather Xerxes like,” answered 
Melanie ; “ I w T as thinking where should we all 
be fifty years hence ? ” 

“Well, I must say,” cried Madame de Belle- 
garde, with an expression of annoyance, “ that 
is even worse than I expected. I believe you 
never think of anything but being dead and 
buried — so very uncomfortable and dispiriting. 
Any one else would have been induced, by 
these dresses, to retrograde a century in 
thought ; instead of which, you anticipate just 
enough time to put us in our graves, or make 
us so old and ugly, that one must shudder at 
the thought.” 

“ I quite agree with yoy,” said Zorndorff; 
“ let us rather amuse ourselves with the incon- 
gruity of the dresses aud movements. What,” 
he added, turning to Melanie, “what would 
your great-grandmotl er. Adelgunde von Ad 


I C Y RILL A. 


lerkron, whose picture I have so often admired 
at Windhorst, say, were she to catch a glimpse 
®f her great-grandchildren flying round the 
nx in in this wild manuer ? Would she think 
even the near relationship of Adlerkron and 
his cousin sufficient to authorize such a public 
embrace — such a ” 

“ Pshaw ! ” cried Madame de Bellegarde, in- 
terrupting him, “ you are going iuto another ex- 
treme — talking like an antediluvian.” 

“ I thought,” said Zorndorff, “ you proposed 
returning in imagination to the time of powder 
and paint.” 

“Well, sol did; but do you suppose that 
people did not .dance then ? ” 

“ They did, but in a very different manner, 
if we may believe chronicles and pictures. 
In those days the gentleman bowed his pow- 
dered head over the lady’s little finger, ready 
to apologise for being under the necessity, of 
touching it.” 

“ I have read chronicles and seen pictures 
that tell quite a different story,” she said, care- 
lessly. 

“ I daresay you have, but the less you speak 
of them the better. When people now talk of 
their great-grandmothers, they are supposed to 
think of flowing robes, dignified manners, and 
graceful reserve.” 

“Not I ! ” cried Madame de Bellegan e, turn 
ing to Klemmhein, who came to remind her of 
an engagement ; “ I don’t believe that my 
grandmothers were in any respect better than 
I am; and taking us all in all, women are in- 
finitely less worthless now than they w T ere in 
the times we are representing in costume this 
evening.” 

“ I am inclined to agree with her,” observed 
Melanie. “ Women certainly are gaining by 
degrees a higher position in society.” 

That was not what she meant,” said Zoru- 
dorff. “ Her reference was merely to morals 
and manners in days of yore ; and in the latter 
there certainly has been a very evident and re- 
markable change since the days of our grand- 
mothers.” 

4 For the better, you must allow,” said Me- 
lanie. 

“ There is less apparent coquetry, and no 
affectation of modesty. Where a woman for- 
merly thought it interesting to be ignorant, or 
scarcely dared to whisper an opinion, she now 
looks us calmly in the face, neither abashed nor 
embarrassed, and pryounces judgment without 
reserve.” 

“ And why should it not be so ? ” asked Me- 
lanie. “ Are we not entitled to form an opin- 
ion, and give it, as well as you or any of your 
sex? I have no doubt that another century 
will emancipate us from the remaining tram- 
mels which still so unnecessarily hamper us.” 

“ I did not know that you were an advo- 
cate for the emancipation of women,” said 
Zorndorff 

“ Nor am I, in the general acceptation of the 
words,” replied Melanie, with unusual earnest- 
ness. “ I have no wish to infringe on any of 
your prerogatives — no desire to step out of my 
sphere ; but I think women ought to be given 
a more liberal education — should be taught to 
exercise their intellects as well as men, and then 
they would ceas« to be considered either mere 


subjects of pastime, or household drudges, a* 
the case may be.” 

“That, time is long past,” said Zorndorff, 

“ and it would indeed be necessary to retrograde 
a whole century to find men capable of think- 
ing in that way. But are you aware, that even 
the degree of emancipation which you desire 
will greatlv limit your power ? ” 

“ How so?” 

“ That very difference of education and man- 
ner which you so deprecate, is one of youi 
greatest charms. Let a woman talk and argue 
with us precisely as we do with each other, and 
we may end by forgetting ourselves so far as 
to treat her and her opinions in a way that 
would lie as offensive as new to her.” 

“ Not much danger of that, as long as she 
is youug and handsome,” said Melanie ; “ and 
it is exactly to provide for the succeeding years 
that I prop'xse a different education. Women 
living in what is called the world suffer, when 
their youth is past, mortifications and annoyances 
which, though not confessed, are but too evi- 
dent in all those desperate efforts made to pre- 
serve and decorate their fading persons. Thostf 
whose station in life imposes on them a con 
tinual succession of active domestic duties may 
perhaps pass into age and ugliness impercepti- 
bly ; we of the world cannot do so. Our con- 
sciousness and dread of age is the just and 
severe punishment of a frivolously spent youth, 
and the only chance of mitigation lies in early 
laying the foundation for the rational and use- 
ful occupation of later years.” 

“A sort of intellectual provision for old age,” 
said Zorndorff 

“ Precisely. I would give home enjoyments 
to those restless unhappy women who night 
after night weary themselves at card-tables, or 
wander disconsolately about ball-rooms, where 
their grandchildren are or might be dancing.” 

“And what are the improvements in edu 
cation which you consider necessary to pro 
duce this last most desirable result ? ” asked 
Zorndorff 

“ I have ceased to think of improvements, 
and propose a total reform,” answered Melanie. 
“ Why, if we have the same improvable minds 
as your sex, should they not be cultivated by 
the same methods — why should reason be left 
to itself with us, and so carefully disciplined 
with you ? ’ 

Zorndorff shrugged his shoulders, and sug- 
gested that it would be advisable, perhaps, to 
try the experiment on a few ; the result would, 
at all events, be interesting. 

“ Exactly what I thought,” cried Melanie, 
eagerly. “ An education, to the age of fifteen 
or sixteen, precisely the same for girls as for 
boys.” 

“ Pray don’t stop there,” said Zorndorff, “or 
Greek and Latin will be the chief acquirements 
gained, and they will hardly prevent your old 
ladies from frequentiug card-tables and ball' 
rooms.” 

Melanie smiled good-humouredly, and Zorn- 
dorff added : “ May I hope that, instead of 
leap-frog and ball, you will substitute knitting 
and netting ? ” 

“ Rather skipping-ropes and hoops,” replied 
Melanie, gaily ; “ and though you may laugh 
at me, I am so convinced of the excellence of 


CYRILLA. 


# 

£he idea, that I have serious though .a of speak 
icg to Rupert about Tina.” 

“ Suppose,” said Zorndorff, “ you were to 
adopt that child, and have her educated accord- 
ing to your plan. She is a good healthy sub- 
ject for an experiment, and I have no doubt 
her father would confide her to you more wil- 
lingly than to any one else.” 

“ Perhaps so but a she has no rank 

or connexion, is not in the least pretty, or even 
aristocratic looking. What on earth could I 
do with her afterwards?” 

Zorndorff bit his lip to hide a smile of de- 
rision. Any one but his aunt would have re- 
ceived a sarcastic reply ; but great personal 
regard, and a sort of involuntary admiration 
tV jr the < grains of sense that like particles of 
gold could occasionally be sifted from her non- 
sense, always effectually imposed silence on 
him. 

Just at that moment Cyrilla entered the room 
with Rupert, followed by Lindesmar and some 
young men, who laughingly exclaimed : “ Lots ! 
—let us draw lots for the dance : it is the only 
way to end the matter without a quarrel.” 

“ As you please,” said Cyrilla, sitting down 
listlessly ; and while Rupert tore up some 
Visiting-cards into different lengths, she added, 
' My ball-book is in a state of hopeless confu- 
won to-night ! ” 

“This is pleasant,” whispered Zorndorff to 

Melanie. “'While others surround my 

wife, and draw lots for a dance, I scarcely dare 
to speak to her ! I 'don’t think I can stand this 
much longer.” > 

“ Remember that you are yourself to blame,” 
she answered. 

“ Do you think I would submit to such treat- 
ment were it otherwise ? ” he rejoined. “ My 
only consolation is, that I do not suffer alone. 
Cvrilla’s pride is completely wearing her out. 
All her efforts have not enabled her to conceal 
from me that she is unhappy and ill.” 

“ 111 ! ” cried Melanie ; “ why every one says 
she is lookiug particularly well — quite lovely 
to-night.” 

“She is rouged,” said Zorndorff; “but look 
at the dead paleness of the rest of her face. 
Can you not see her lips quivering when she 
tries to smile ? ” 

“ That is because you are so near,” she an- 
swered, naively. 

“ I know it. She is no actress, and lets me 
read her thoughts like a book.” 

“And can you see her unhappy and suffering 
without an inclination to relent? Make her 
free, Edouard. Your doing so now would in- 
ieed be an act of magnanimity.” 

“ It would be highly dramatic undoubtedly,” 
said Zorndorff, sarcastically. “ Perhaps you 
can tell me in whose hand I ought to piace 
hers when, in the act of resignation, I look up- 
wards, mutely imploring a blessing on a union 

which is to wreck my happiness for life 

Lindesmar’s, Adlerkron’s, or one of these noisy 
hussars.” 

Melanie did not answer. She was Evidently 
hurt, both by his words and manner. He per- 
ceived it, and added, with suppressed vehe- 
mence, “ No, Melanie, this is no comedy that 
we are playing, but it may become a tragedy 
if Cyrilla give me any ju9 L cause for jealousy. 


m 

The promise I made her in that letter, to which 
she so often appeals, contained no clause to 
bind me in such a case.” 

This was almost too much even for Melanie. 
“ And he dares to talk of jealousy,” she thought, 
as she watched him leaving the room.* “O 
what different measures men have . for their 
own conduct and for ours !” 

Like all summer balls, the danciDg continued 
until long after daylight, when some hands 
with youthful temerity drawing aside the cur- 
tains, and admitting a flood of light, the tired 
chaperons were so effectually scared; that 
an almost immediate dispersion of the com- 
pany followed, and only a few select friends 
remained to join Rupert and his cousins in 
the breakfast-room. Cyrilla’s feelings, after 
her night of revelry, were unsatisfactory to the 
greatest degree. Wearied with danciDg, and 
the forced gaiety which she had thought it 
necessary to assume, the whole vanity and folly 
of such pleasures began slowly but distinctly 
to rise before her mind for the first time in her 
life; and while still recalling the insipid events 
of the past night, she walked to the open win- 
dow, and impatiently rubbed the rouge from 
her cheeks. The friction produced a natural 
colour instead, and she perhaps never looked 
better than at the moment that Zorndorif and 
Conrad entered the room together. 

“ Ah,” cried Melanie, who was enveloping 
herself in additional draperies of lace, “you 
who have wisely slept as usual, are come, I 
suppose, to laugh at our worn-out appearance.” 

“ No,” answered Zorndorif; “ I have spent 
the time since we parted in walking up and 
down my room, and making occasional excur- 
sions to the musicians’ gallery, whence I could 
see every thing that was going on in the ball- 
room the night seemed interminable to 

me!” 

“ Cyrilla complained of its length also,” .said 
Melanie. “ For my part, since I have ceased 
to be actively engaged at balls, instead of feel- 
ing the ennui experienced by other spectators, 
I cannot help being painfully conscious of the 
quick passing of time, the palpable loss of 
which is more evident in a ball-room than any- 
where else! A little world in itself for the 
time being, each dance is an epoch — each M 

“ Come, Melanie,” cried Julie, “ don’t moral- 
ize until after breakfast ; and as to loss of time, 
I should think it is pretty much the same 
thing whether we spend the night dancing or 
sleeping.” 

“Not quite,” said Melanie, smiling; “you 
will find a. considerable difference a few hours 
hence.” 

“ Well, then, I shall eithei go to bed or sleep 
on a sofa.” 

“ And turn day into night,” said Melanie. 

“ I do not see any harm in that either,” re- 
joined Julie, yawning ; “other people do the 
same.” 

“ That argument is unanswerable,” observed 
Zorndorff with a slight sneer. 

“ I suppose,” said Madame de Bellegarde, 
“ we shall have another ball or a dejeuner when 
we get up Melanie’s drama ? ” 

“ Drama and ball must be postponed until 
autumn,” said Rupert ; “ the President cannot 
be induced to prolong his stay beyond the 12th 


CYRILLA. 


of August, although my leave of absence lasts 
until the 24th, and after that we have inspec- 
tions, and reviews, sham battles, and a camp 
outside the towu.” 

“ Delightful ? ” cried Julie. * I hope the 
camp will be at our side of the town, ne^f 
Neuhof I mean.” 

“ If I be consulted,” he answered, laughing. 

“ I shall not forget to mention your wishes. 

“ It will be warm work for us,” said Klemm- 
hein. “ but a brilliant ending for your military 
career. Adlerkron, until all is over you cannot 
well think of deserting us.” 

“ Of course not,” said Rupert ; “ and to a 
little work after so much play I have no sort 
of objection.” 

At this moment the children appeared at the 
door, and stood there gazing in silent astonish- 
ment at the strangeness of the dresses, and un- 
expected number of people at the breakfast - 
table. 

“ Come in, come in — don't you know me ? ” 
cried Rupert, and immediately they rushed 
towards him and began to feel the embroidery 
ou his coat and to pull his ruffles. 

Virginie first half-stifled her child with 
kisses, and then brought him to Rupert. 

“ Is he not beginning to look healthy ! ” she 
exclaimed. 

“ You have brought some colour to his cheeks 
by dint c c kissing,’* said Mr, de Bellegarde ; 
“ but if y 1 were to bestow equally violent 
demonstra* ons of affection on me or on Victor, 
I daresay the result would be the same.” 

“ Alphonse is really getting quite strong,” 
observed Madame de Bellegarde ; “ and for 
my part I am no admirer of desperately 
healthy-looking children — very red cheeks are 
decidedly vulgar. Don’t you think so ! ” she 
added, turning to Zorndorff. 

“ Excuse me I was speaking to my 

aunt, and did not hear ” 

“ Alphonse lias become quite healthy since 
he has been at Freilands — his paleness is con- 
stitutional.” 

“ Most probably,” said Zorndorff. 

“ He is remarkably handsome,” she continu- 
ed, with a glauce towards her husband that 
plainly proved, on this subject at least, they 
did not agree. “ I am sure you must admire 
his great black eyes.’ 

“Of course I do,” replied Zorndorff, “they 
are full of expression like his mother’s.” 

“You could scarcely bore Zorndorff more 
than by talking to him about children,” observ- 
ed Rupert. 

“ I confess that I am no baby fancier,” said 
Zorndorff, coldly, “ and do not like children un- 
til they are reasonable beings — until they have 
ideas.” 

“ And do you mean to say tb‘ t Pertl here is 
not reasonable, that he has nr t ideas ? ” cried 
Rupert ; “ why, he has already shaped his 
plans for the future, and is fully resolved to 
study diligently in order to become a good 
man, like his father, and preach in the church 
at Windhorst. 

“If you please,” said the boy, with some em- 
barrassment, “ I think I should rather be like 
tome one else, now.” 

u Indeed ! Who then ? ” 

* I should like to be ... . 


(ft 

tall hussar, and wear a dolL an, and ride a 
prancing Jblack horse about the streets.” 

“And, you young rascal, do you suppose 
that hussars have nothing to do but to ride 
prancing horses about the streets ? ” asked 
Rupert, laughing. 

“ O, I should have a gun too, and go out 
with the gamekeeper ; and then I would talk 
Italian to Mademoiselle d’ Adlerkron, and ride 
with her, and lift her over the stepping-stones 
at the park ford when thtS^vater was deep, 
and ” 

“ That boy has ideas,” said Zorndorff. “ Come 
here, my friend, and tell me what else you 
would do if you were a tall hussar ? ” 

But Pertl did not like the manner of his in- 
terlocutor, and drew back. 

Rupert laughed, and told him he might con- 
sult his father about a change of profession 
during the course of the ensuing week, when 
he expected him at Freilands. 

“ Coming here ? ” asked Melanie, quickly. 

“Yes, but only for a day or two. O, here 
comes the President — for the first time in his 
life too late for breakfast ! ” 

Fearing remarks about their sleepy tired 
looks and fantastic dresses, there was a general 
movement of the whole party the moment he 
entered the room, Zorndorff alone remaining at 
the breakfast-table, apparently in deep thought, 
his head resting on his hand. 



CHAPTER X L V . 

The unnecessary exertions made by Zorndorf* 
on the evening of the ball, still more perhaps 
an effort to ride into Exfort a few days after- 
wards, had caused a relapse, which, though 
not dangerous, had been ^ca use sufficient 101 
his physician and the President to insist on 
his remaining at Freilands for some time 
longer ; And there he either wandered unea- 
sily from room to room, or, half reclining or. 
one of the sofas, sometimes talked, sometimes 
read; but always, when Cvrilla was present, 
following her slightest movements witn 
watchful eyes, and endeavouring eagerly to 
hear every word she spoke, even on the most 
indifferent subjects. He never directly ad- 
dressed her himself, but made every possible 
effort to draw her into conversation through 
the medium of others; and ever} 7 ’one, from 
different motives, seconded his endeavours, 
excepting Lindesmar and Rupert. The latter, 
conscious of the restraint caused by Zorn- 
dorff’s presence, and perceiving with anxiety 
her daily-increasing paleness and nervous ir- 
ritation of manner, proposed a renewal of 
their boating and riding excursions, to which 
she acceded after having stipulated that 
Conrad should be invited to join them. 
Zorndorff watched her goings and comings 
witli a silent exasperation not unobserved by 
Melanie, who, however, hopeless of inducing 
him to relent, and fearful of provoking the 
anger of both by further interference, had re 
solved altogether to abstain from expostula- 
tions or entreaties on either side. 

The weather, which had long been unin 
terauptedly fine, began at hist to threaten t 


a 


a 


a 


C Y RILL A. 


W 

change; and one mornmg after Rupert had 
announced that the barometer indicated 
storm and rain, and that a succession of dqrk- 
looking clouds were already visible in the 
distance, ( tyrilla silently collected her colours 
and crayons, took possession of a window in 
Melanie’s drawing-room, and accepted with 
thanks Conrad’s proposal to bring her some 
wild flowers before the rain began. While 
they were still speaking, the post arrived. 
There were no specimens of “adhesive cream- 
laid letter envelopes ” — no heaps of little 
neatly initialed notes about nothing, as in 
England since the stamp era. A few dimin- 
utive newspapers were solemnly deposited 
on a marble table, and then three oddly 
folded with post marks disfigured letters 
presented to Virginie, Cyrilla, and Conrad. 
Virginie grew pale as her eyes caught the 
one addressed to her, and she afterwards 
started and trembled in a very remarkable 
manner when she observed that Rupert was 
looking at her inquiringly. 

Cyrilla clasped her hands, and smiled and 
Hushed with pleasure as she exclaimed: 

From Fernanda! 0, Rupert, let us go to 
Melanie.” 

Receiving no answer, she looked up and 
perceived that he had followed Virginie to a 
distant window ; and while apparently jest- 
j. ing about the letter which her only partially 
' counterfeited agitation prevented her from 
reading, he was gently endeavouring to gain 
possession of some paper enclosed in it. Cy- 
rilla watched them for a moment, and then 
slowly left the room, unlieedful in her turn 
of Conrad’s exclamation: “Salzburg! my 
aunt!” and the crimson flush that immedi- 
ately overspread his face, and made his ears 
tingle as the colour in them deepened into 
purple. / 

When Cyrilla returned with Melanie, about 
half-an-hour afterwards, they found Zorn- 
dorff alone at one of the balcony windows 
watching the drifting clouds, and listening 
with apparent interest to the long gusts of 
wind that moaned round the house. 

“I have just ordered all the windows to 
be closed,” said Melanie. “Don’t you think, 
Edouard, it would be better for you, in your 
present state of health, to avoid that strong 
current, of air in which you are standing?” 

Zorndorff murmured something about his 
life not being worth preserving, which made 
Melanie close the window herself in the de- 
cided manner of a careful mother, who will 
permit no contradiction from a wa}’ward 
child when she fears health may be injured 
by it. Now, it is a curious fact, that the 
very youngest and most inexperienced wo- 
men intuitivety assume a right to dictate 
where health or personal comfort is con- 
cerned, and that the most refractory of men 
seldom or never in such cases dispute their 
authority. Zorndorff submitted with a look 
of gratitude, and said he rejoiced to think 
there was one left in the world to care for 
him. 

Perhaps Melanie suspected his wish to 
draw Cyrilla into some explanation, and 
dreaded a scene which she foresaw would 
cot. end satisf vetorily ; perhaps Ids really 


171 

weakened state made her fea / violent emo- 
tion for him. She took no notice of either of 
his speeches, but asked, abruptly, “ Where is 
Rupert ? ” 

“In his study or armory, or whatever you 
call that queer room of his ; but you had 
better not interrupt him just now.” ' 

“Why not?” 

“Because he went there with the Vis- 
countess some time ago, and they seemed to 
have very important business to transact.” 

“ Business ? Nonsense ! ” 

“I assure you I am serious,” said Zorndorff, 
making a very faint effort to detain her. “It 
is some secret affair, and an interruption 
might cause great annoyance.” 

Melanie smiled incredulously, and walked 
on after Cyrilla. 

“Listen to me, and judge for yourself,” 
said Zorndorff, following; and when they 
stopped he added, with affected reluctance : 
“I heard enough before Adlerkron left the 

room to convince me that he 

is 

“What?” 

“About to pay he^ debts. He com- 

mences with the milliner’s bill to-day ; and 
if I may judge by the expression of her face, 
it can be no trifling one.” 

“ Edouard, you must be mistaken — such a 
thing is not possible? ” T( 

“Why not? She and Adlerkron ay very 
intimate.” j + 

“This is traducing Virginie in an unpar- 
donable manner!” cried Melanie, indig- 
nantly. 

“You now force me to request you to go 
on, and convince yourself,” rejoined Zorn- 
dorff. 

“You are sure that Virginie is in Lhe 
room ? ” 

“ Quite.” 

Melanie opened the door, and then had but 
just time to see that Rupert, sitting at his 
writing-table and biting the top of a pen, 
was quietly watching Virginie as she count- 
ed and arranged various packets of bank- 
notes. A moment afterwards the current of 
air between the open windows and door 
caught the loose notes, and sent them flutter- 
ing through the room. It was in vain that 
Virginie threw her handkerchief over some, 
and Rupert, blushing deeply, mads snatches 
at others, while he exclaimed — “My notes! 

my notes ! Virginie, you shall 

never help me to count money again ! ” 

“ Cyrilla’s pallor, Melanie’s look of re- 
proachful amazement, and ZorndorfFs cynical 
smile, immediately convinced Virginie that 
the truth was more than suspected.' For a 
few seconds she struggled with shame and 
vexation, made a violent effort to appear un- 
concerned, — hut then, bending her head 
down on the table beside her, burst int< a 
passion of tears. 

Rupert started from his chair, and, with 
some violence, began to close the windows. 
Cyrilla left, the room silently, followed by 
Melanie, after she had observed, more re- 
proachfully than apologetically, “that Ru- 
pert had given her permission to enter hi? 
study w'thout ceiemony at all times and 


172 


CYRILLA. 


that she had not believed i ; possible her 
presence could be an intrusion when Virginie 
was with him ! ” 

Cyrilla sat down it her drawing-table, and | 
absently played with her crayons; while 1 
Melanie animadverted on what they had just 
witnessed in unusually strong terms, ending 
by wishing very heartily that “Virginie 
would return to her own people, for there 
was every reason to fear that if she remained 
much longer at Freilands she would either 
injure her reputation or contrive to inveigle 
Rupert into a marriage — he was so foolishly 
good-natured and generous.” 

Cyrilla sighed, but gave no answer ; and 
when Melanie left her she leaned back in 
her chair, vainly endeavouring to think 
calmly and without prejudice of all she had 
just seen; but, on hearing, soon after, the 
sounds of movement in the adjoining room, 
she hastily bent over her colours, and began 
.o rummage among them very diligently for 
some unknown tint. Virginie had probably 
ehosen to retire by the back staircase, for 
Rupert entered alone, at first impetuously 
enough; but, before he lmd walked half-way 
towards her; his step slackened, and on reach- 
ing the window, he stooped down and whis- 
pered — “ Cyrilla dearest you are 

not displeased are you ? ” 

“ A little with myself, for having yielded 
to my curiosity, and followed Melanie into 
your room so unceremoniously,” she answered 
in a low voice, which, however, was heard 
distinctly by Zorndorff, who had taken pos- 
session of a chaise longue , separated from her 
by a thick screen of large-leaved ivy, intend- 
ed to protect the occupant from the disagree- 
able cross light of an end room. Rupert 
had, of course, seen him direct^ on entering 
— Cyrilla was quite unconscious of his pres- 
ence. 

“That is not what I mean,” continued Ru- 
pert, in a still lower voice ; “ I want to know 
if you are displeased with me ? ” 

“ I have no right to be so.” 

A pause ensued. 

“ I suppose,” — and here he made a slight 
sign towards the ivy screen, unperceived, 
however, by Cyrilla, who was scribbling gro- 
tesque heads on some paper before her, — 

“ I suppose he told you told Melanie 

all he knew about this provoking 

affair ? ” 

Cyrilla did not answer. 

“Just like him! — never straightforward 
false alike to friend and foe! ” 

Alarmed at the suppressed violence of his 
manner, Cyrilla thought it necessary to offer 
the only excuse she could think of for Zorn- 
dorff. 

“lie at first only told Melanie that you 
were engaged on some important business, 
and rather endeavoured to dissuade her from 
interrupting you.” 

She blushed deeply at the equivocation 
which her fears had prompted, and turned 
quite away from him while speaking 

“Then J have done him injustice 

perhaps . ... but Virginie said she was sure 

that b« :h you md Melanie knew all, and 


* 

‘AY e know enougn to feel a thorough e r a 
tempt for her,” said Cyrilla, slightingly. 

“Allow mo to attempt a justification of 
her < onduct before you condemn her,” re* 
joined Rupert, eagerly, and no longer speak 
ing in his former scarcely audible manner 
“That Virginie should prefer taking... ... 

or or borrowing a small sum of 

money from me, instead of applying to inqui- 
sitive and harshly judging relations, I find 
not only pardonable, but quite natural.” 

“And 1 find it extremely improper,” said 
Cyrilla, decidedly. 

“Suspend your judgment a little. You 
have never, like poor Virginie, been the wife 
of a selfish, worthless man, who, finding 
means to gratify all h*!s own luxurious habits, 
lias left you to the chance kindness of friends 
or the grudgingly doled out bounty of heart- 
less relations ! ” 

Cyrilla swallowed once or twice with evi- 
dent difficulty, and Zorndorff clutched the 
cushion beside him, as Rupert continued 
what lie considered a justification of Vir- 
ginie. 

“Of de Rubigny I have but to say, tha* 
gold was his idol, and, to procure it, honoui 
and reputation were sacrificed without re 
serve. When obtained, it was altogethei 
lavished upon himself ; and though frequent- 
ly possessed of large sums of money won at 
the gaming-table, his wife could hardly ob 
tain from him sufficient for the common ne- 
cessaries of life. But why talk to you of 
such things ? What can you understand of 
the struggles and trials of a neglected, in- 
sulted woman, whose very existence seemed 
at times forgotten by her husband ? ” 

Rupert paused, but Cyrilla attempted no 
answer until he added, “Virginie lias told 
me she was often in want of a few Friedrichs 

d’or in want of the dress necessary 

for the society in which she lived ! You will 
find it difficult to imagine trifling wishes of 
that kind ungratified.” 

“ Not at all,” replied Cyrilla. “ My wishes 
have frequently soared beyond my means ; 
but that I believe to be the case with every 
one in the world, no matter how high their 
station. Superfluous desires expand in tole- 
rably exact proportion to one’s elevation.” 

“ May I ask you to tell me some of yours? ” 
cried Rupert, eagerly. 

Cyrilla shook her head. “I have learned 
from earliest infancy to control them,” she 
answered, quietly; “but even supposing it 
possible that I had for such purposes incurred 
debts, I can at least assure you, Rupert, that 
nothing in this world would have induced 
me to allow any man, excepting my father 
or brother, to pay a milliner’s bill for me — 
Virginie has a brother, and yet deliberately 
preferred you ! ” 

Rupert bit his lip, and observed, that Lin 
desinar could 'ot effectually have assisted 
her without a] plying to his grandfather, on 
whom he was still dependent. 

Again Cyrilla shook her head in an unsat 
isfiictory manner, and Rupert continued : “II 
you will not listen to a defence, let me at 
least offer an excuse ; you are probably not 
aware that her position in society vas oiu 


OYRILLA 


which maie a considerable expenditure in 
dress absolutely necessary ” 

“No position can authorize any one to in- 
cur debts they cannot pay. Do not expect 
to make me change my opinion on this sub- 
ject, Rupert.” 

“Then,” he said, half laughing, “I give 
that up, and only ask you to view reasonably 
her applying to me in her really trifling pe- 
cuniary difficulties: the whole affair, I assure 
you, is scarcely worth talking about.” 

“I am glad to hear it on her account ; but 
the amount of money makes no difference in 
the act itself. AVliat would you think were 
you to hear that I had in like manner taken 
Count Lindesmar into my confidence, and 
having complained of the cruelty of my re- 
lations, requested him to assist me out of 
my ‘trifling pecuniary difficulties?’” 

Rupert was silent. 

“ Well, what would you think ? What 
would you say ? ” 

“No matter; the case is quite different: 
you have not known Lindesmar all your life, 
as I have his sister.” 

“True; but you forget there are some 
other circumstances which ought to have 
made Yirginie apply to any one rather than 
to you, had she possessed the slightest deli- 
cacy of feeling.” 

“Women judge women more severely than 
we do,” observed Rupert; while, to hide his 
embarrassment, he rocked himself lightly on 
the back of her chair; “you have not left 
me a word to say.” 

“I believe you,” she said, leaning back, and 
turning her head towards him. “ You would 
have spoken better had you not in your 
heart of hearts been of my opinion from the 
commencement.” 

“Well a but with regard to 

my part in this affair, I should like to know 
that you did not judge me quite so rigorous- 
ly as my unfortunate companion.” 

“No,” said Cyrilla, looking up to him with 
the sweetest smile imaginable ; “ I only agree 
with Melanie in thinking you a good-natured, 
generous fool ! ” 

“ Spoken like your own dear self ! ” cried 
Rupert; and what he might have added had 
Zorndorff not been present, it is hard to say. 
As it was, he bent forward, touched his lip 
with his finger, and then walked quickly out 
of the room. 

Zorndorff, who had by no means been hid- 
ing behind the ivy screen, and had only in- 
tended to remain there until he could speak 
to Cyrilla without danger of interruption, 
was just preparing to advance towards her, 
when the sound of approaching steps deterred 
him. A moment after, Conrad appeared, his 
hands full of wild flowers of every possible 
description. 

“ You don’t mean to say you have been out 
in this desperate rain, and already collected 
all these beautiful specimens ? ” cried Cyrilla, 
extending her hands. 

“No; I gathered them this morning for 
you: they have been in a glass of w^ater ; 
doe* that make any difference?” 

“None whatever. I always put them in 
water when I paint, for they cannot bear 


ns 

the atmosphere of a romi as well as girders 
flowers. But you must have been qu/te at 
the’marshy end of the upper lake for these 
plants! ” 

Conrad nodded. 

“And on the moor for the heath? Most 
exemplary of cousins! Just sit down there, 

will you I don't see why I should 

not have a sketch of you as well as of other 
much less useful people. I have plenty of 
time to-day.” 

“Do you mean to put me into the album ? ” 
he asked, taking a chair opposite her. 

“No; you shall form one of my own 
private collection. I hope you feel flattered 
at the distinction ? ” 

“ Indeed I do.” 

“So you ought; but you need not blush 
about it. Draw that japan screen between 
you and the other window ; the light in this 
room is the very worst in the whole house 
for painting. That will do — now remain 
quiet. ” 

“ I thought you preferred people talking to 
you when you were taking their portraits ? ” 

“ Cela depend. Yours would not be like if 
very animated-looking ; it must be a silent* 
not what is called a speaking likeness.” 

“You think me a stupid fellow.” 

“No, I don’t,” said Cyrilla, beginning to 
sketch with her usual rapidity. “I have 
heard ycu talk to Rupert in a manner that 
would have removed any suspicions of the 
kind had I ever entertained them.” 

“ I do not understand cannot re- 
member ” 

“You see,” she said, with pretended gravi- 
ty, “ when men walk up and down a room ic 
our presence, talking of things be} T ond our 
comprehension, and using quantities of Latin 
words, it is astonishing how our respect in- 
creases for them.” 

“You are laughing at me.” 

“Not at all, I assure you. Rupert ha9 
since taken a good deal of trouble to explain 
to me the difference between allodium and 
feudum; but I could not quite understand 
all he told me about the Fidei-commiss y 
which makes you mutually inherit from each 
other in case either should die without direct 
descendants.” 

“Did he tell you that Freilands, and some 
other property which has accumulated during 
his minority, is altogether at his own dispo- 
sal?” 

“Yes,” answered Cyrilla, smiling; “and 
even promised that, in case he died unmarried, 
it should be mine. I don’t think my chance 
is very great.” 

“ So then,” said Conrad, bringing his chair 
by a sudden movement in contact with her 
table, and leaning his elbow on it — “So then 
he has spoken to you, and you are not angry 
or offended with Iiim ? ” 

“About what?” asked Cyrilla, looking 
amazed. 

Conrad blushed deeply, and stammered* 


“ About his having refused I mean, 

the not consenting to in short, when 


I was in Salzburg my aunt Olga told nie ot 

the family compact, which he .. .... 

declined fulfilling.” 


974 


C Y R I L L A 


CyrilWs- hand lost its steadiness; she 
threw down her pencil, and stood up with 
the evident intention of leaving him. 

“ For goodness sake, Cyrilla, don’t be angry 
with me!” he cried, anxiously. “Nothing 
was further from my thoughts than an in- 
tention of annoying you in any way. I 
should never have referred to that incom- 
prehensible affair if I had not had a personal 
motive, and a very strong one, too. Just 
read this letter and you will understand it 
all.” ' . ' 

“You had better tell me the contents,” she 
said, coldly; the writing is unknown to 
me.” 

“It is mine. I can write better than I can 
speak.” 

“And I am to read it in your very pres- 

“If you will, I shall ba greatly obliged to 
you.” 

Cyrilla read it, folded it up with a half 
thoughtful, haif amused smile, and returned 
it to him, while gently shaking her head. 

“ Is that the answer? ” 

“The best I can give you. Let us consi- 
der it a mere jest, and forget it.” 

“I cannot,” said Conrad, resolutely; “ for 
I have thought of nothing else from the 
moment I first saw you. Here is a letter to 
you from my aunt, enclosed in one to me 
which I received but an hour ago ; and in it 
you will perceive ” 

“ Ah ! ” said Cyrilla, interrupting him ; 
“ now I .begin to understand you; ” and she 
held out her hand for the letters. 

Nothing can form a greater contrast than 
the calm, slightly ironical smile, with which 
the .young girl read the letter, commanding 
her forthwith to bestow her hand and affec- 
tions on her cousin Conrad instead of her 
cousin Rupert, and the flushed, anxious face 
of the young man, whose want of knowledge 
of the ways of women made him augur well 
from her composure. 

“ It seems,” she began, looking out of the 
window, instead of at him, “it seems you 
were in a great hurry to get possession of 
that old house, and its supposed treasures 
and antiquities.” 

“ I went to Salzburg solely for the purpose 
of negotiating the purchase.” 

“And ended by negotiating a marriage,” 
rejoined C3 T rilla, archly. 

He blushed, until his features seemed to 
swell and throb painfully. 

“ Now, see, Conrad,” she continued, in the 
same tone, “ I have too great a regard for 
you to let you be imposed on in this shame- 
less manner. Putting myself out of the 
question, as a thing of no importance ” 

Conrad endeavoured to interrupt her ; but 
she continued, “The house is really not worth 
the live thousand Friedrichs d’or, the rate at 
which my aunt has thought proper to value 
it and you me. The situation is unfash- 
ionable, disagreeable ; and it might even be 
necessary to consult an architect about b* 
condition before you could attempt your pro- 
jected excavations.” 

“But,” cried Conrad, eagerly, “ I don’t care 
at *11 about the ?ondition of the house now ” 


“Still,” said Cyr^ft, u as Rupert will be 
sure to let you have it cheap hereafter, and 
without any encumbrance whatever, I really 
must advise you to wait.” 

“ Wait ? ” he repeated, inquiringly ; “ why 
should we wait ? ” 

.Cyrilla smiled ; she almost laughed. In 
the ignorance or innocence of his heart, he 
felt greatly reassured by her manner, and 
added, gaily : “ Our aunt Olga certainly can 
drive as hard a bargain as any one I ever 
met. I wish you had heard her appreciating 
and me depreciating her old barrack ! ” 

“ I can imagine it,” said Cyrilla, tapping 
the letters on the palm of her left hand, 
while her eyes continued fixed on his with a 
certain mirthful expression, that could only 
have been misunderstood by a very inexperi- 
enced man. 

“ I began to fear we should never come to 
an agreement,” he continued, laughing; “for 
I had been fool enough to let her see my 
great desire to be in immediate possession, 
when all at once she informed me of the 
clause in my uncle’s will concerning you, and 
proposed our ending the difference by my 
taking you, with the old house as dowry.” 

“And you agreed at once! — submitted to 
the dictates of prudence in the disposal of 
your hand without demur ! Did you know 
what you were doing ? ” 

“Perfectly. I saw your picture, knew 

that our ages were alike connexion 

desirable, and all that sort of thing.” 

“Right royally arranged, to say the least ! ” 
observed C3 T rilla. 

“Not the worse for that,” said Conrad, 
quickty. “ Royal marriages, on an average, 
turn out as well as others. Besides, I had 
m3 T father’s and grandfather’s example, and 
have heard them both say, often enough to 
make me remember it, that friends or rela- 
tions could generally choose better than the 
persons concerned, who, more or less^ were 
always blinded by personal inclination.” 

“But surel3 T 3 T ou think a little personal in 
clination necessary,” said Cyrilla. 

“0, of course; but I never doubted that 
coming in time ; for my aunt, and a whole 
lot of Salzburg people, told me you were 
quite charming.” 

“But 30U heard also that Rupert had re- 
fused me,” interposed Cyrilla, amused at his 
bo3 r ish candour, and mistaking Ins certainty 
of success for jesting. “ Did not that alarn 
you ? ” 

“ Not at all. In the course of conversation 
I discovered that that bad taken place before 
he had seen 3 T ou ; and, from some unguarded 
expressions of m3' aunt’s, I found out that she 
suspected Rupert had changed his mind, and 
was only trying to make use of me to force 
him to a decision.” 

A good deal surprised at the acuteness of 
this remark, Cyrilla looked up attentive^. 

“ That was the reason I kept aloof at first,” 
he continued; “for, with Rupert as a rival, 
I could have had no chance at all, you know 
So I watched him, and let him laugh at my 
supposed fear of women, and dislike to their 
society, while, in fact, I was only' diffident, 
because I knew nothing about them. I lou’i 


CYRILL A. 


m 

antiquities, nor even the duty of" providing 
a dame chatelaine for Waldenburg, or the 
laudable desire to give a home to an orphan 
relation, would have moved him. 

As his impetuosity began to subside, his 
eloquence degenerated into something like 
complaints of having been led, by her evi- 
dent avoidance of Rupert during the last few 
weeks, to suppose her indifferent towards, if 
not displeased with, the latter; while the 
kindness and familiarity with which he 
himself had, from the commencement of theii 
acquaintance, been treated by her, had natu 
rally led him to draw conclusions in his own 
favour. 

Here Cyrilla stopped him. “ That was a 
great error, Conrad, and you do me injus- 
tice if you imagine I ever endeavoured to 
attract you, or wished to make } r ou like me, 
otherwise than as a friend or distant rela-’ 
tion. I feel myself blameless, and can only 
lament the inconceivable inexperience ori 
your part which has led to this painful mis- 
take.” 

“Yes; I acknowledge that I am very in- 
experienced,” said Conrad, despondingly. 

“Very,” said Cyrilla. 

“I suppose my aunt’s wishes will have no 
influence with you ? ” 

“None whatever.” 

“And may I not at least hope that time 


remember my mother, I have had no sisters, 
and we never saw any one but my tutor’s 
wife at Waldenburg. I liked her too. She 
was a good creature, but dismally ugly.” 

“Were I to judge from my own observa- 
tion,” said Cyrilla, smiling, “ I should have 
supposed that you preferred my pretty Selim, 
or the brace of pointers given you by Rupert 
the other day, to all the women in Christen- 
dom.” 

Conrad seemed a little hurt. “We have 
jested long enough,” he said, after a pause ; 
“ my letter must have convinced you that I 
am quite serious in my proposal. I have no 
experience in these affairs, for I neyer loved 
any one — I mean any woman until now.” 

“ Ah, bah 1 what do you know about love ? ” 
cried Cyrilla, slightingly, as she commenced 
putting aside her drawing materials. 

“ Quite as much as you I should suppose,” 
he answered, with some pique. 

“ Scarcely : for it never occurred to me to 
imagine my regard for you, or yours for me, 
anything but the natural inclination towards 
friendship, which, as tenth cousins twenty 
times removed, we ought to feel for each 
other.” 

“I rather rejoiced in the distance of our 
connexion, as offering one obstacle less,” he 
answered, gravely. “ My aunt told me that 
Rupert seemed to think a nearer relationship 
an impediment.” He paused ; but, perceiv- 
ing that with an impatient gesture she was 
about to leave him, he stretched out a 
trembling hand to detain her, and in a tor- 
rent of passionate words, that seemed to 
sweep away all his diffidence, overwhelmed 
her with so unreserved a declaration of his 
love and expectations, that she stood before 
him silent and dismayed, scarcely believing 
the evidence of her eyes and ears that it was 
indeed Conrad who stood before her and so 
spoke. 

Yet, after all, there was nothing very as- 
tonishing in what occurred. Zorndorff, as he 
looked frowningly through his ivy screen, 
was angry but not surprised : a very few 
days had convinced him that Cyrilla had un- 
awares become the object of a violent first 
love to a young man, who, he knew, had 
been educated at home in perfect seclusion 
by an anxious father; and, now but just es- 
caped from the superintendence of an elderly 
watchful guardian, was quite ready to adore 
the first pretty face and graceful figure that 
presented itself, and, in defiance of the les- 
sons of prudence carefully instilled into liis 
mind, equally eager to offer and willing to 
bestow himself and his large fortune upon 
the same. It rather struck Zorndorff as a 
singular instance of wisdom, that prudence 
and forethought had at all directed Conrad’s 
choice ; but it had done so far less than either 
he or Cyrilla supposed. The old house with 
its buried treasure had seized upon the ima- 
gination of the boy ; the antiquities had in- 
terested the studious youth ; and the early 
marriage so often recommended by his father 
became ^n imperative duty to the man ; but 
had Cyrilla been “ dismally ugly,” like his 
tutor’s wife, we may be allowed to take it 
for granted that neither the treasure nor the 


“Time,” said Cyrilla, quickly, “can make 
no change in the, but it will enable you to 
forget, or, what is better, laugh at this affair 
as merely an amusing episode in your life.” 

“No,” rejoined Conrad, bitterly; “I shall 
never forget or laugh at the recollection of 
this day. Experience, they say, is the best 
teacher, and this lesson shall not be lost 
upon me. Never again will I trust gentle 
manners candid speeches, or flattering famil- 
iarity.” 

“Familiarity is no proof of affection in a 
case of this kind,” interposed Cyrilla ; “ ra- 
ther the contrary.” 

“With you, perhaps, but not with. others,” 
cried Conrad ; and, stung by the self-posses- 
sion of her manner, while he still struggled 
so hard with tears his manhood scorned to 
shed, he continued, “You will scarcely deny 
that Madame de Eubigny is as much m love 
with Rupert as a woman can well be, and 
she is familiar enough when in his room every 
morning.” 

Cyrilla, who had been progressing towards 
the doorway, stopped, and lie added, “You 
look surprised ; I thought every one knew 
that Rupert chooses to have Alphonse con 
tinually with him, and that Madame de Eu 
bigny naturally follows her child.” 

“ They have been intimate from childhood,” 
began Cyrilla, quite as anxious to excuse him 
to herself as Conrad. 

“ 0, I know that,” he said. “ Don’t sup- 
pose I blame Rupert for not objecting to have 
the Viscountess c< nstantly with him; it 
would be very odd if he did. She humours 
his fancies famously, reads all his letters, and, 
by Jov^ yesterday she knew better than he 
did where to find the fowling-piece I asked 
him to lend me ! Remarkably clever woman 


— ohe understands perfectly what she is 
about.” 

So did Conrad at that moment, with all 
his inexperience ; but no sooner ha<i he per- 
ceived Cyrilla’s rapid change of colour, and 
the anxious inquiring look she fixed upon 
him, than he repented what he had said, and 
endeavoured to soften it by adding, that “ Ru- 
pert did not much mind Madame de Rubigny’s 
presence — that he went on writing, and 
sometimes had his steward or woodranger in 
the room.” 

Still Cyrilla lingered hesitatingly near the 
door, dreading yet wishing to know more, 
and Conrad, though quite unconscious they 
were overheard, lowered his voice as he again 
approached her, and said, “I see — I un- 
derstand it all now — you are — engaged to 
him." 

“ No, oh no,” she answered, shrinking as if 
Bhe feared further questioning. 

“Then, I tell you what, Cyrilla,” he cried, 
with 9 magnanimity quite thrown away upon 
her, “ before I leave Freilands to-morrow, I 
shall give him my opinion of the v*&y he is 
going on. This sort of hesitating would be 
bad enough with Madame de Rubigny, but 
with you, his own cousin, it is perfectly un- 
pardonable. I think, too, I may hint,” he 
added, with a forced smile, “or more than 
hint, that he will not be dismissed with as 
heavy a heart as I shall take back to Walden- 
burg.” 

“ For heaven’s sake, Conrad, say nothing 
to Rupert,” cried Cyrilla, endeavouring to 
stop him as he hurried past her, affecting a 
serenity he was far from feeling. “ Conrad, 

I entreat ” But her cousin was gone, 

and in his stead Count Lindesmar came to- 
wards her, and spoke a few w T ords with most 
unusual gravity. 

“Excuse me,” said Cyrilla, passing him 
without a look ; “I must speak to Conrad — 
who has misunderstood me in some strange 
way.” 

“ Every one seems out of temper to-day,” 
muttered Lindesmar, as he caught a glimpse 
of ZorndorfFs gloomy countenance. “The 
weather may have affected the others, but I 
have a serious disappointment to complain 
of. Only imagine, Zorndorff, the appoint- 
ment I was so sure of obtaining here has 
been given to Dittmar! ” 

“ I am sorry, but not surprised,” he an- 
swered, gravely. 

“ And yet with the letters and recommen- 
dations that I brought here, I think I had 
every reason to expect the first vacant situa- 
tion.” 

“ One personal present enemy can destroy 
the effect of a dozen letters or the warmest 
recommendations.” 

“But I do not believe I have an enemy 
in the world. The only thing I fear is, 
that the President may not be quite favour- 
ably disposed towards my family.” This 
was said half interrogatively ; but Zorndorff 
did not answer, though he continued thought- 
fully to watch Lindesmar as he walked up 
and down the room, gesticulating a good 
deal, according to his usual custom. 

“I say, Zorndorff,” he continued, stopping 


suddenly htfoife ^ if your uncle be in 
any w ay prejudiced against me, I should like 
to know it, as in that case, my remaining 
here any longer would be folly. 

Zorndorff paused for a moment before he 
replied. “ My uncle is very guarded in giv- 
ing an opinion of any one ; but if you wish 
it, Lindesmar, 1 can speak to him, and obtain 
the information you desire.” 

“ Pray do ; for you see, being passed ovei 
in this way is both mortifying and irritat- 
ing; and should it occur again, I shall be 
greatly tempted to return to my grandfather 
at Amboise.” 

lie left the room as he spoke, and Zorn* 
dorff, walking quickly into a distant and but 
little frequented apartment, looked carefully 
arouud him to ascertain that no inquisitive 
eyes beheld him, while he yielded to some 
rather vehement demonstrations of the anger 
provoked by the events of the last hour. 


CHAPTER X L V I. 

Lindesmar, infinitely disgusted with the 
world and its ways, the w T eather, and every 
thing else he happened to think of, wandered 
listlessly down the stairs and about the hall, 
until attracted by the sound of laughter to 
the billiard-room. There he found Rupert 
with some officers of his regiment, who hav- 
ing been on the road to Freilands during the 
storm, and completely wet by the subsequent 
rain, were now equipped, from his wardrobe, 
in a strange mixture of civil and militar) 
morning and evening garments ; w r hile M&joi 
Arnheim, who was a large athletic man, not 
having found anything to suit his dimensions, 
had been obliged to have recourse to the 
chasseur , and now gravely stalked round the 
billiard-table in Rupert’s livery. 

“ It is a pity his fiancee cannot see him,” 
cried Klemmhein, laughing. 

“She would not look at him if she wer# 
here,” said Rupert. 

“What! ” cried Arnheim, turning sudden 
ly round — “Not look at me ! ” 

“ Not in that dress certainly, without be- 
ing particularly requested to do so.” 

“I should like to try the experiment,” said 
Arnheim, “if I had an opportunity.” 

“ Try it on my cousins, who will be sure to 
order tea lmlf-an-hour hence.” 

But Arnheim did not seem to have any cu- 
riosity where they were concerned ; he 
shrugged his shoulders and went on with his 
game. Not so Klemmhein ; he instantly 
seized the idea, thought that playing servant 
to the Countess Falkenstein and her sistei 
must be very pleasant work ; and after hav 
mg been a little encouraged by the others, 
actually put on a livery, and waited impa- 
tiently until an occasion should offer for pro 
8enting himself. 

At length a bell rang — he was given a 
tray, and, furnished with tea-things and the 
necessary directions by the footman whoso 
place he had taken, lie walked up to Me- 
lanie’s drawing-room. She was just entering 
it with Cyrilla, and speaking in a low, ear 


CYRILLA 


nest manner, about something that seemed 
of absorbing interest to both. Completely 
occupied with the expectation of his detec- 
tion, Klemmhein paid little attention to the 
subject of their conversation, until a sign be- 
ing made for him to approach, lie stood with 
laughing face and tray in hand between 
them. Not once did they look up, or even 
seem conscious that a human being besides 
themselves was present. Slowly and absent- 
ly they dropped the sugar into their cups, 
held the cream-jug poised in the air, while 
they looked at each other intentty, and spoke 
words of mysterious import, calculated to ex- 
cite his curiosity, quite as much as it would 
have done that of the Ilans or Caspar whose 
place he filled. 

“As to how he happens to know all this,” 
said Melanie, alternately sipping her tea and 
playing with her spoon, “ I have only to tell 
you, that he was here in this room screened 
by that ivv.” 

“A listener! ” said Cyrilla, contemptuous- 
ly ; “I did not imagine that possible.” 

“ If you consider for a moment, Cyrilla, 
you will scarcely blame him : he assured me, 
nowever, his intention was to have taken 
advantage of the opportunity for an explana- 
tion, which you must yourself acknowledge 
is now unavoidable.” 

“ The sooner the better,” said Cyrilla. “ I 
hope you have prepared him for what he 
must hear. It would prevent a scene, and 
be pleasanter for all parties.” 

“ That is more easily said than done. I 
had trouble enough to pacify him about that 
boy, and endeavoured to make him ashamed 
of himself by saying, I should rather have ex- 
pected him to laugh than be angry at any- 
thing so preposterous.” 

“You would not have laughed had you 
been present,” said Cyrilla; “he was very 
much in earnest.” 

“ I dare say he was boys always are, 

and I am very sorry for him, poor fellow ; 
but w r e have some one else to talk of just 
now. I wish you had had some screen, and 
could have overheard ” 

Klemmhein reminded the speakers of his 
presence by again presenting his tray. 

“No more, thank you,” said Melanie, 
slightly -waving her hand. “You may go 

now or, stay, I think the rain has 

cooled the air extremely bring some 

wood and light the fire. ’ 

Klemmhein was stormed with questions 
when lie returned to the billiard-room. 

“I told you,” replied Rupert, “They 
would not look at you. I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised to hear that they altogether forgot 
your presence.” 

“ Precisely,” said Klemmhein ; they seem- 
ed to consider me a sort of machine, a thing 
without eyes or ears, and consequently 
talked in a way that has excited my curi- 
osity sufficiently to make me disposed to try 
to light a fire for them, in order to hear a 
little more.” 

“ Hid they really forget 3'ou were in the 
room ?” asked Rupert. 

“ Not exactly, for they mentioned no 
names; and I reminded them of my vicinity 

12 


lTy 

when I thought I was hearing more than 
they might desire of some of one whc had 
been concealed behind a screen, and a boy 
who was very much in earnest.” 

“ I don’t nnd anything particularly inte- 
resting in that,” said Rupert. “ I would not 
walk across the hall, still less light a fire, to 
hear about either the one or the" other.” 

“Nor I, perhaps, if I did not suspect the 
boy might be your cousin of Waldenburg, 
and he who heard behind the ivy what he 

did not like to hear ” He stopped and 

looked towards Lindesmar, who was gloomi- 
ly sitting at a window watching the large 
drops of rain coursing each other down the 
panes of glass. 

A couple of young officers laughed without 
knowing why, and encouraged Klemmhein 
to light the fire and hear the end of the story. 

A few minutes afterwards he was standing 
before the grateless fireplace, into W’hich, 
however, he carelessly threw the wood on 
perceiving that the apartment was deserted. 
Cyrilla was gone, and Zorndorff, walking up 
and down the adjoining room, spoke to Me- 
lanie in a low vehement manner. “ Not a 

day,” he said, “not an hour my uncle 

must speak to her — she will attend to him 
at least for me she has no sort of con- 

sideration — seems to consider it something 
meritorious being implacable.” 

“ Edouard ! ” 

“I wish you were back again in Exfort,” 
he continued, with increasing irritation, as 
the sound of Klemmhein’s entrance and noisy 
proceedings reached them; “it is one of the 
peculiarities of this house that, notwithstand- 
ing the unusual number of rooms in use, one 
never can be free from interruption for five 
minutes. That new fashion of having the 
doors to slide into the walls, and substituting 
curtains, is an intolerable nuisance. There ^ 
may be some one listening to us now, and 
hearing a secret -which, strange to say, con- 
tinues one, though known to four persons — a 
fifth, however, without our strong personal 
interest to ensure secrecy, might be danger- 
ous, so ” 

Klemmhein had heard only the last few 
words ; but they proved so clearly that some- 
thing had been said which might cause em- 
barrassment, that he did not choose to await 
recognition or attempt explanation. On hear 
ing the so*md of quiek-approaching steps, lie 
made a bound toward Rupert’s study, enter- 
ed it, closed the door with some violence, and 
escaped by the back staircase. 

“We have been overheard,” began Zorn- 
dorff. 

“No,” replied Melanie, “it was only a- ser- 
vant. I heard him enter but a moment ago, 
probably to light the fire as I desired — the 
few words he may have heard will be per- 
fectly unintelligible to him servant* 

never understand ” 

“ Excuse me,” said Zorndorff, “ they under- 
stand and observe a great deal more than 
any other class of people. Our frequent for- 
getfulness of their presence, the silence and 
restraint imposed on them by ours, alike tend 
to concentrate their thought* on us, and call 
forth and improve their powers of observa 


178 


CYRILLA. 


tion in an unusual degree ; while want of edu- 
cation, and grossness of ideas, make them the 
most dangerous and prejudiced judges of our 
actions. I detest servants, and have only 
Seen able to find one partially trustworthy.” 

“You mean your present housekeeper, 
Hickey ? ” 

“Yes; I may depend on her, I believe; 
she is honest and — silent.” 

“But I thought,” said Melanie, “you were 
about to lose her. Is she not to be married 
to our porter ? ” 

“I shall find means to prevent that for 
some time to come,” answered Zorndorff. 
“There are few who can altogether dispense 
with the services of an humble friend; and I 
may want one now that the most important 
epoch of my life has arrived.” 

“Take care,” observed Melanie, “that your 
interference on an occasion of this kind does 
not turn your humble friend into an humble 
fte.” 

“I have thought of that,” said Zorndorff, 
“and resolved not to oppose her openly. My 
uncle must create difficulties and raise ob- 
jections — and for this purpose I have pointed 
out to him the discomfort of having married 
servants in very strong terms. This Rickey 
is the only one on whom I can place the 
smallest reliance, and I must retain her this 
year at least in my service.” 

“And when this year is ended, is the 
threatened danger past ? ” asked Melanie. 

“//<? said so,” answered Zorndorff, musing- 
ly ; “ and any doubts I may have entertained 
of his power of prediction must jueld to the 
literal fulfilment of all his words, lie pro- 
mised years of quietude after this. It seemed 
as if I were to give up my profession and re- 
tire into the country I can do so now 

and why should I not ? ” 

“ Why not, indeed ! ” cried Melanie. “ You 
have hitherto endeavoured but too exactly to 
fulfil your destiny — why not now leave Ex- 
fort, and avoid the danger of which you have 
so strong a presentiment ? ” 

“I dare not leave Cyrilla while Adlerkron 
is here — he it is whose destiny has ever 
crossed mine ; from him I must expect con- - 
stant opposition ; and even though Cyrilla 
may never return his affection, I know that 
he has sufficient inffuence to poison her mind 
against me, and incite her to treat me with 
an indifference a thousand times more intol- 
erable than the most openly expressed dis- 
pleasure.” 

“With feelings towards Rupert such as 
yours,” said Melanie, hesitatingly, “ I should 
imagine you must be anxious to leave his 
house as soon as possible.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” he answered, “ and no- 
thing but dire necessity could have induced 
me to stay here so long. I have lately, how- 
ever, begun to think my illness rather for- 
tunate than otherwise, as my presence here 
has been an evident restraint on Cyrilla, and 
perhaps prevented her from confessing all to 
him.” 

“She will never do that,” said Melanie, de- 
aidedly. 

“She has already spoken of a 'promise” 
•aid Zorndorff, “and might easTy become 


more explicit, in order to prevent him nom 
thinking her capricious or insensible to hit 
attentions.” 

“ For all our sakes she will be silent,” said 
Melanie, earnestly; “and fofc her own, too, 
poor dear ; for I regret to sa} T , Edouard, her 
fear of you is now so great, that even the 
possibility of being condemned to live with 
you would alone ensure her silence for ever.” 

“ I cannot, will not, believe that/’ cried 
Zorndorff, impetuouslv; “nor do you either.” 

“ I must,” replied Melanie, “for Cyrilla has 
said it too often and seriously to admit of a 
doubt ; besides all her actions confirm her 
words. Have you not observed the calm re- 
signation of her manner lately i ” 

“No! ” said Zorndorff, harshly ; “her pre- 
sent life is one continued struggle, which will 
kill her if it last much longer.” 

“And you see that, and feel no remorse — 
have' no thought of relenting ? ” 

“If by relenting you mean resigning — 
never ! ” 

“ Then,” said Melanie, “my advice to both 
is now an immediate and total separation for 
some years. I want her to go to Italy, to 
Fernanda.” 

“She shall not! ” cried Zorndorff. 

“I — thought — in such matters she wa* 
perfectly at liberty.” 

“l r es — so she is — of course Y^es, she 

may go — but no one can prevent me from 
following her ; and from this time forward 
she must accustom herself to see me inces- 
santly beside her. Our agreement neither 
imposes absence nor silence on me, and with 
time and opportunity, it will be very odd it 
I cannot win a woman who has already sol- 
emnly vowed to be mine for life ! ” 

The sound of an approaching carriage 
drew him to the window, whence, catching a 
glimpse of the President as he drove up to 
the house, he hurried down stairs to meet' 
him, leaving Melanie to the vain regrets and 
incessant anxiety which had latterly become 
so oppressive to her, that she had lost all in- 
terest in her usual occupations, and thought 
of nothing but a flight to Italy, as the only 
means of escape left for her and her sister. 
Should Zorndorff follow them, as he had just 
threatened, there was but little chance of 
Cyrilla’s recovering either health or cheerful- 
ness. She herself, too, begau to feel a s .rt 
of indefinite dread of her nephew, that made 
his presence anything but agreeable to her ; 
and she almost resolved that, the Alps once 
between her and the President, she would 
write to him and confess a secret which had 
placed them in the power of one who seemed 
resolved to be as tyrannical as he had bee*a 
unscrupulous. Mentally, the letter was com- 
posed, and the excuses offered for her own con- 
duct naturally brought her to meditations on 
Zorndorff’s. How had he disappointed her 
expectations ! How completely convinced her 
that romantic situations in real life were 
more likely to be painful than pleasing 1 So 
completely had he shaken her frith in ideal 
love, that she felt forced to admit that men 
were egotistical beings, incapable of feeling 
or even understanding that sublime love, 
thoroughly refined from the dross of selfish- 


C YRILL A. 


XU 


ne&s and interest, that l:ad beei the subject 
of her youthful poetical dreams. But no — 
there were exceptions — rare indeed — yet 
even her own experience furnished one ; and, 
quick as lightning, her thoughts went back 
full fifteen years, and the object of her first 
artd, as she still firmly believed, only love, 
rose before her. — Again they sat together 
and mourned over their hard fate. — Again 
she made the magnanimous offer of braving 
her stepmother, her father, and all the world ; 
of telling Count Falkenstein that she hated 
him — and of waiting until Valentin had a 
home to offer her — no matter how humble, it 
would be a paradise with him! And then 
she heard liis words of ardent gratitude and 
admiration at such disinterestedness — saw 
the struggle — the effort it cost to enable him 
to refuse the sacrifice ; but he had done so — 
nobly — and without reserve — not even ac- 
cepting the vows of eternal love she so pro- 
fusely proffered. With a tyranny, of which 
she had only become fully conscious at a 
later period, she had insisted on his remaining 
near her, and being present when she obeyed 
what she chose to call his commands. This, 
too, he had done ; and the certainty of mu- 
tual sympathy, in the fullest extent of the 
word, had supported both through the most 
trying hours of their lives. 

Since that time no chance or change had 
brought them together ; but now she was in 
daily, hourly expectation of a meeting. He 
was coming to see his children before their 
return to school — coming to give Rupert 
advice about his Vehn colony, his church, 
and sehoolhouse. She had heard him much 
spoken of latety ; had herself joined in the 
conversation. But when Rupert now joyous- 
ly entered the room, and desired her to guess 
who had come from Exfort with the Presi- 
dent, her heart beat violently, even while 
she answered with apparent composure, “Mr. 
Englmann, most probably ; ” and then she 
looked towards the door. 

“0,” said Rupert, “you will have time 
enough to prepare a little speech for him ; 
he is so tired after having been all night in 
the mail, that he intends to take a bath and 
rest before dinner. We shall have a tolera- 
bly large party to-day — Arnheim, Stauffen, 
and some others, came here to fish ; but the 
weather compelled them to play billiards; 
and they now intend to dine with us. Klemm- 
hein expected to meet the Bellegardes, and 
that he may not be disappointed, I have just 
sent off to Neuliof to invite them; they will 
be sure to come, as you know they are always 
bored to death at home on a day of this 
kind ” 

Melanie was glad that their party had in- 
creased. She thought the expected interview 
would be less painful before witnesses — and 
retired to her room to dross and pre- 
pare for it. 

Most carefully she chose her gravest col- 
oured robe. Most solemnly she covered 
,vith choicest old lace, forrrfed to represent a 
cap, her shining black hair. Unconsciously, 
*d\e wished to appear less worldly, in both 
dress and manners, than she supposed Engl- 
Ti-ann expected to find her ; in' yet a latent 


desire to please, perhaps surprise by her 
still remarkable beauty, was uppermost in 
her mind, as she walked towards the draw- 
ing-room, whence the humming sound of 
many voices told her she was as late as she 
that day intended to be. 

The Bellegardes gathered round her — the 
officers from Exfort spoke of their frustrated 
plans — Klemmhein related how he had been 
playing at masquerade, and how mortified 
he had been at not having obtained a single 
glance from her Excellency, <fec., <kc., etc. ; 
and Melanie answered and smiled, while her 
eyes furtively wandered to a table covered 
with maps and books, where the President 
and Englmann were standing, apparently dis- 
cussing some very interesting topic. Some- 
what offended to find that the latter could 
talk and care about roads and plantations 
when he expected to see her, the palpita- 
tions of her heart ceased by degrees ; she 
waited sufficiently long to convince him that 
she too was indifferent ; and it was a fact, 
that as she at length walked across the 
room, she actually felt very nearly as calm 
and unconcerned as she looked. What Engl- 
mann felt or thought, it would have been 
hard to conjecture ; he bowed over the prof- 
fered hand, spoke quietly of the quarter of a 
life that had intervened since they had last 
met, and then endeavoured to repress the 
more violent than graceful demonstrations 
of affection bestowed on him by his two 
children. And Melanie put her hand on 
Tina’s head, and spoke of her, and of the 
education of children in general, and girls in 
particular, wondering at herself and at him. 
and greatly inclined to ask, “ Can such 
things be ? ” 

They can — and it is better that it is so. 
Fifteen years spent in the conscientious ful- 
filment of those domestic duties from which 
no station in life is exempted, will, in ninety- 
nine cases out of a hundred, extinguish the 
most flaming first love that ever burned on 
the altar of disinterestedness. 

Melanie gazed with melancholy earnest- 
ness on the voluminous white neckcloth ; the 
long uncurled hair, combed back from the 
calm but careworn face before her; and 
then — then — the fantastic little flickering 
flame she had so fondly fed with poetry 
and moonlight meditations for years, was — 
quenched for ever. 

“ Such, such is life ! ” she observed to Cy< 
rilla, as they separated for the night. “1 
m'ay be, as you say, a more, contented woman 
henceforward, but for me the romance of life 
has ended ; the pleasing sorrow that inspired 
my verse is gone for ever ! Content is death 
to poesy.” 

“Perhaps so,” answered Cyrilla; “but it 
is health of mind — it is happiness — and I 
cannot pity you for having gained it, even 
at the price of all your ‘pleasing sorrows, 
and poetical inspirations.” 


ISO 


C Y R I L L A. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

The rin shone brightly into the breakfast- 
room the next morning; but lighted no 
cheerful faces, save those of Englmann and 
his two children. They laughed and talked 
logether, unconscious of all that was being 
enacted around them ; and had not Cyril la 
been greatly preoccupied, their gaiety would 
certainly have attracted her from the win- 
dow, where she had stood so long, and 
silently following with anxious eyes the fig- 
ures of Rupert and Conrad, as they walked 
together before the house, forgetful of time, 
and heedless of the but half suppressed yawns 
of the superlatively well-dressed French 
ralet who leaned so gracefully against a 
pillar of the portico, or the fiery impatient 
glances of the bearded chasseur, who had 
stood more than three quarters of an hour 
beside the open door of the well-appointed 
travelling carriage. 

At length the cousins approached Cyrilla, 
and making a sign to her to lean a little out 
of the window, Conrad said, in a low voice, 
“ Will you allow me, as relation or friend, 
to give an opinion concerning your affairs, 
and offer you advice ? ” 

“ Most gladly,” answered Cyrilla, blushing 
a good deal, while she glanced inquiringly 
towards Rupert. 

“From what I have just heard,” continued 
Conrad, with grave solicitude, “ it has be- 
come evident to me, as well as Rupert, that 
some ungentlemanlike advantage is being 
taken of your want of knowledge of common 
law. A promise such as you suppose you 
have made is an impossibility.” 

“You have said more than I permitted,” 
she observed, turning reproachfully to Ru- 
pert. 

“ My dear Cyrilla, you oould not expect 
me to let Conrad leave Freilands under the 
impression that I was acting as he supposed.” 

“Do not regret the confidence he has 
placed in me,” interposed Conrad, quickly ; 
“ rather let me use it to make myself useful. 
It must be evident to you that Rupert is-too 
much personally concerned and interested in 
this affair to discuss it with Count Zorndorff 
as rationally and dispassionately as is desir- 
able May I hope that you will employ 

me for this purpose? One word, and I re- 
main here to insist on your being released 
from such unjust thraldom.” 

“ Thank you a thousand times, dear Con- 
rad,” said Cyrilla, extending her hand to- 
wards him, while tears started to her eyes ; 
“ I understand all the generosity of your 
offer, but I cannot accept it. 

“You will not? ” 

“ I dare not.” 

“Then,” said Conrad, coming closer, and 
speaking in a whisper; “let me at least ad- 
vise you to leave Exfort, and get out of the 
reach of that handsome tyrant as soon as 
jo u can.” 

“Even that will be more difficult than 


you suppose,” auswered Cyrilla with a forced 
smile. 

“ You think he will follow you I " 

She seemed unwilling or unable to answer. 

“ Come to Waldenburg all of you he 

will scarcely besiege a castle in the Carpa- 
thians, with moat and tower still in good 
preservation.” 

“ The President is going to Aix-la-Chapell« 
” began Cyrilla. 

“ So much the better ; then I can have 
you and Melanie without him, perhaps ? ” 

Cyrilla raised herself from her stooping 
position. “No, Conrad,” she said, with a 
melanchoty smile ; “ there is not the slight- 
est chance of such an arrangement being 
made, nor could I even propose it.” 

“ I may expect you at least,” he said, 
turning to Rupert, and vainly endeavour- 
ing to conceal his disappointment; “the first 
use you will make of your liberty will, I 
hope, be ” 

“To inspect your fortress,” said Rupert 
“You may expect me about the end of Sep- 
tember.” 

“ And in the meantime, Rupert, don’t 
despise my advice because I happen to be a 
couple of years younger than you are. Ke<?p 
clear of the Viscountess.” 

“ I will,” said Rupert, good-humouredly. 

“It would have been well for me,” said 
Conrad, as he turned from Cyrilla, and with 
bent down head walked towards the hall 
door : “ it wmuld have been well for me if I 
had not let myself be persuaded to come 
here.” 

“ Don’t say that,” cried Rupert, warmly ; 
“ for if you had not come we should have 
been strangers still, whereas now, I trust, we 
are friends for life.” 

“ I am so very sorry to leave you all,” 
said Conrad, greatly ashamed of what he 
supposed an absurd weakness. 

“Then why don’t you stay here? ” 

“Because I made a fool of myself yester- 
day, and everything is changed now. Adieu ! ” 

He sprang into the carriage, the door of 
which was closed with a sounding jerk that 
made the horses prick up their ears, the pos- 
tilions vault into their saddles, the valet 
clamber monkey-like to his place, followed 
with more dignity, but equal haste, by the 
chasseur; and a moment utter they swept 
past the windows of the breakfast-room, 
where a number of loiterers were now col 
lected. The President and Zorndorff were 
not among them — they had long been stand- 
ing apart, perhaps too evidently waiting for 
the dispersion of the party. A look of intel- 
ligence passed between Virginie and the lat- 
ter— she raised little Alphonse in her arms* 
and, with an unusually benign smile, pro- 
osed taking the two other children with 
er to Neuhof, “to play with Hortense and 
Josephine.” 

The invitation did not seem to give much 
pleasure ; they hung on their father’s arms, 
and begged to go with him ; and when he 
said that he anci Rupert would be too much 
occupied to attend to them, they turned im- 
ploringly to Cyrilla. 

“I am sorry that I cannot walk with ye* 


CYRILLA 


18t 


So-day,” she said, “as I have a long letter to 
write ; but if you go to Neuhof, I promise to 
meet you at the ford when you are returning 
home.” 

“ I intended to have kept them until after 
the children’s dinner,” began Yirginie, “ that 
is . if Mr. Englmann will permit ” 

‘O, no, no, no,” they both cried eagerly; 
“ you will find us at the ford if you will only 
go there at twelve o’clock.” 

Oyrilla smiled, and then whispered to 
Tina, “ Play with little Alphonse to-day, and 
•don’t shock the Bellegardes with unnecessary 
gymnastics.” 

"The little girl looked up inquiringly. 

“I mean, don’t climb the apple-trees, or 
run races with Jerome or Lucian.” 

Tina nodded her head two or three times, 
with an expression of great intelligence in 
her little bright ej^es, and then followed Yir- 
ginie out of the room. 

The Presid mt looked at his watch with 
dignified thoughtfulness, murmured some- 
thing about having ten or fifteen minutes to 
spare as he dropped it into his waistcoat 
pocket; and then turning to Cyrilla in a 
grave business-like sort of way, requested to 
speak to her alone for a few minutes in the 
next room. 

She did surmise, she knew what she was 
about to hear; but, like most women, her 
imagination was both fertile and vivid, and 
had already furnished her with so many 
painful interviews with the President, that 
the reality fell far short of the supposition, 
and the courage and determination which 
she took with her was more than sufficient 
for the occasion. She sat down on the of- 
fcied chair with a half-suppressed sigh of 
resignation, and if the first question^ was 
startling, she was at least prepared to an- 
swer it. 

“Without your mistaking my motive for 
mere vulgar curiosity, Cyrilla, may I ask if 
you are engaged to your cousin, Rupert ? ” 

“I am not.” 

“But a few days ago,” he continued, “I 
should have heard this answer with great 
regret: I ought now to rejoice at it, yet I 
find it impossible to do so.” 

Cyrilla demanded no explanation of these 
words, and, much surprised at her compo- 
sure, he added; “It is your own wish of 
course that it is so ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, drawing in her 
breath quickly ; “circumstances have made 
it veiy probable that I shall never enter into 
any engagement.” 

“ With him ? Then, after all, my nephew 
may be right, though for my part I doubted 
his having the slightest chance. That un- 
pleasant explanation at Spa, and his subse- 
quent marriage were not I supposed likely to 
be forgotten or forgiven so quickly, and ” 

Cyrilla interrupted him with the assurance 
that she was very glad to find his opinion 
eoincided so exactly with her own. 

“I am but a bungler in affairs of this 
kind,” said the President, “ and ought not to 
have referred to that day at Spa wheh I in- 
tended to plead Edouard’s cause for him ; 
but the fact is, had I net been present then, 


I could not have been aware of the motives 
which now induce him, notwithstanding the 
recent death of his wife, to seize the earliest 
opportunity of showing his desire to atone 
for conduct so criminal as he acknowledges 
his to have been on that occasion.” 

Uninterrupted by Cyrilla, the President 
enlarged on this topic for a considerable 
time ; but when he allowed her to perceive 
that Zorndorff entertained no doubts of ulti- 
mate success — expected .uat she would, in 
the course of the ensuing year, pardon if not 
forget the past, and bestow her hand on him, 
nay even now required a promise to that ef- 
fect, her anger overcame all other feelings, 
and with a fluency which afterwards aston- 
ished herself, she altogether declined the 
proposed alliance, and begged never to hear 
it mentioned again. 

“Have you well considered what you are 
doing, Cyrilla?” asked the President very 
seriously. 

“Yes,” she answered, rising; “you cannot 
suppose me in the least surprised at what 
you have said — I expected to hear it, not just 
yet, perhaps, but the sooner your nephew is 
now made acquainted with my unalterable 
decision the better.” 

“ Your ‘ unalterable decision !’” repeated 
the President, with a slightly ironical smile, 
as his eyes followed the youthful figure re- 
treating towards the door. “That sounds 
well, but means nothing, Cyrilla. Listen to 

me There is nothing unalterable in this 

world. As well might we hope to stop the 
course of time as the progress of change: it 
is incessant, not alone in things and persons, 
but in minds also. Gradually, almost imper- 
ceptibly, these changes take place, and are 
only known to us by their effects, or felt 
from the manner in which they influence our 
actions.” He paused, and then added, grave- 
ly — “Will you not defer your final answer, 
and try what change a year may make in 
your ideas on this very important subject? ” 

Cyrilla had stopped, scarcely knowing 
whether to feel annoyed or amused at the 
calm answer to her rather vehement speech. 
He seemed to think that she was wavering 
already in her “ unalterable decision,” and 
perhaps intended to confirm any prudent 
consideration that might have arisen, when 
he added — “If you are not likely to enter 
into an engagement with Rupert, Edouard’s 
proposal is worthy of at least some months’ 
consideration. He is now in every respect a 
most eligible parti , and is as much attached 
to you as any woman could desire — more so, 
in fact, than is conducive to happiness — for 
he seems extravagantly jealous without a 
shadow of cause that I can discover.” 

A painful feeling of consciousness suffused 
Cyrilla’s face with a deep blush : — a moment 
afterwards, the fear that Zorndorff might at 
least have discovered her preference for Ru 
pert made her so pale, that even the Pres { - 
dent observed it. He fixed his keen gr 
eyes on her, and said slowly — “Can it 
possible that, with the choice of two si 
men as Edouard and Rupert, you think 
throwing yourself away on Count Lin 
I mar f * 


182 


CYRI L L A . 


“ 0, no,” 6he answered, greatly relieved to 
percei re that Rupert had not been referred 

to; “1 I . . . . merely wish to remain as 

I am Tor a few years longer.” 

The President looked perplexed for a mo- 
ment. “ I believe,” he said, turning to the 
door of the break fast-room, “I believe it 
would be better if Edouard spoke to you 
himself.” 

But Oyrilla did not feel disposed for further 
explanations ; and the moment the President 
left the room, she opened the door near 
which she was standing, and ran up the 
6tairs to Rupert’s study with such eager 
haste, that when there she could scarcely 
articulate. 

Englmann had been looking over some 
plans and estimates of school-houses with 
him. They both turned round, rather sur- 
prised. 

“Rupert let me go with you 

to the marsh to-day You 

must take me I shall be as little trou- 

blesome as possible.” 

“We shall be only too happy to have you 
with us,” cried Rupert ; “ but put on very 
strong boots, for after yesterday’s rain some 
of the fields will be half under water.” 

To this direction she paid no attention, but 
waited to descend the stairs with him, and 
when in the hall sent for her bonnet and 
gloves. While they were still standing at 
the foot of the. staircase, the President came 
out of the breakfast-room, followed by Zorn- 
dorff in a state of such exasperation that all 
his efforts were insufficient effectually to con- 
ceal it. He whispered a few words to his 
uncle, as they walked to the hall-door to- 
gether, and then turned round and frowning- 
ly watched Cyrilla, who, with nervous haste, 
tied on her garden bonnet, and sent some 
scarcely intelligible message to her sister — 
hurrying past him even while still spcak- 
ing. 

“ Cyrilla,” cried Rupert, following her, 
“you cannot cross the fields if you do not 
put on the boots you had made on purpose 
for the marsh. There is plenty of time still 
— we are not in any hurry.” 

“ But I am,” said Cyrilla, walking quickly 
on. “I want to get away from him” she 
added, in a low voice. “Perhaps he may 
return to Exfort with the President, and let 
us enjoy our remaining time at Freilands in 
peace and happiness.” 

“Oh! you have had au explanation at 
last?” 

“Not with him — it was the President who 
spoke to me. But as he will not hesitate to 
repeat all I said, I may hope to hear no more 
about this matter for some time at least.” 

“ But you are still bound by your prom- 
ise? still unable to bestow a kind word or 
look on me when he is present ? ” 

“lie cannot always be present,” said Cy- 
rilla, with a deep sigh 

“In his uncle’s house at least he will sel- 
-un be absent, and it is there I must see you 
future.” 

Cyrilla was silent; and the Vicar, observ- 
* that they had ceased to speak, walked on 


beside them, and was soon engaged i* con 
versation with Rupert on the endless Subject 
of parishioners and parish duties. 

Half provoked with her cousin for feeling 
an interest just then in such details, Cyrilla 
moved on alone, — at last so completely 
wrapped up in her own thoughts that sh« 
ceased altogether to hear the voices of her 
companions. She was not quite sure that 
she had acted wisely in avoiding an inter- 
view with Zorndorff — perhaps she ought to 
have made one more appeal to his generosity, 
— but after what Melanie had told her, how 
could she expect anything but disappoint- 
ment? No, she must trust to time, — must 
wait until he himself proposed to act as she 
had so often in vain implored him to do.. 
The President had said that time of itself 
brought change, and he was right. What 
had not three years done for her? what 
might not three more do for Zorndorff? 

At the lake they found the fisher and his 
son lazily stretched in Rupert’s wherry : 
they both started up, and began to arrange 
the seats. 

“Bring out the new boat with the awn- 
ing,” said Rupert. “ I don’t intend to row 
to-day.” 

“What a luxurious amusement boating 
is ! ” observed Englmann, throwing himself 
back on the cushions with an easy negligenco 
that rather oddly contrasted with the for- 
mality of his dress. “I used to wish that 
Windhorst possessed a lake or river, but now 
I am glad it has neither. The temptation to 
idleness would have been irresistible, and I 
might have still longer continued to indulge 
in reveries and regrets which ought to have 
no place in the mind of a Christian min- 
ister.” 

“If that be the case,” said Rupert, “I con- 
sider it a fortunate circumstance that Wind- 
horst lias only a fish-pond. To me a lake 
brings all sorts of pleasant recollections — ro 
minds me of our vacation-journeys — of Co- 
mo, Maggiore, even the Mediterranean it- 
self.” 

“And who,” said Englmann, enthusiasti- 
cally, “ who could see this cloudless sky 
those sunbeams quivering on the long ex 
panse of water, without recalling such scenes 
if they had ever been offered to his youthfiiL 
eyes, or helped to inflame his boyish irnagi 
nation ! ” 

Cyrilla’s train of thought was broken : she 
looked up and began to think it possible that 
Iffie Vicar, when a score , of years younger, 
might have resembled in some degree the 
portraits so often drawn of him by Melanie. 
The eyes of which she had hoard ^so pmek 
were certainly of the heavenly blue of the 
sky above them, and there was something 
visionary in their upturned expression that 
involuntarily interested her. Unconscious 
of her observation, he continued : “ Tho?e 

were pleasant journeys, Rupert — days of in- 
nocent vanity; we scarcely felt the differ* 
ence of our ages then.” 

“ Not at all,” said Rupert, bending forward 
to see if it were time to steer for the river 
“You were the pleasantest companion po* 


CYRI 

lible; and if it had not been for an occasional 
quotation of Greek or Latin, I should have 
quite forgotten you were my tutor.” 

“I am afraid it escaped my memory, too, 
oftener than it ought,” rejoined Englmann, 
smiling. “ Do you remember that time at 
Como, where the English family supposed 
me to be your elder brother, and were so 
very civil to us ? ” 

“Perfectly,” answered Rupert, laughing. 
“They discovered some likeness between me 
and a fair-haired midshipman, a son of theirs, 
who by all accounts must have been a still 
more restless animal than I was. I thought 
they would never stop shaking our hands, 
and for my part wa3 m a state of consider- 
able alarm Jest the mamma, in a fit of enthu- 
siasm, might be tempted to give me a kiss ! 
At that time I should have resented such a 
liberty as quite derogatory to my dignity, 
and I did not at all like having my curls 
pushed off my forehead, or a hand placed on 
my shoulder, even bv a handsome woman : 
whereas now, I coula submit to caresses of 
the kind with a very good grace, though 
but bestowed on me by the stout mother of 
an unruly midshipman.” 

Cyrilla smiled. Englmann seemed to be 
* recalling the time more distinctly to his 
memory. “Yes they were very po- 
lite indeed invited us to visit them in 

England but,” he added, with a slight- 

ly contemptuous smile, “ but they thought 1 
was Baron Adlerkron of Windhorst — sup- 
posed me the possessor of your handsome 
travelling-carriage — saw that our arrival cre- 
ated some sensation, and must have observed 
the exemplary patience with which the peo- 
ple at the hotel submitted to the nuisance of 
having the puppies you brought from St. 
Bernhard running all over the house.” 

“And very well oehaved puppies they 
were,” said Rupert, “ until the day they got 
hold of the Englishwoman’s bonnet and 
feathers. Do you recollect their rushing into 
our rooms, scampering about for a few sec- 
onds, and then depositing the mangled spoils 
at our feet, wagging their tails, and looking 
up for the approbation I did not dare to 
show because you were present. Those blue 
feathers nearly choked me as well as the 
dogs. I never laughed so immoderately in 
all my life ; and I think, too, you were 
amused, though you thought it necessary to 
look grave.” 

“You forget,” said Englmann, smiling, 
“ that all the apologies and excuses which 
were necessary on the occasion fell to my 
share. I never was so provoked in my life ; 
we could not pay for the damage done, or 
replace the bonnet, or do anything but offer 
regrets.” 

“We made some offering of that kind 
wherever we went,” said Rupert, “I cer- 
tainly was ft most troublesome boy ; but I 
flatter myself I made up for my juvenile 
misconduct when, at a later period, we com- 
menced our pedestrian tours. How I enjoyed 
our wanderings m Tyrol, with straw hats on 
our heads and knapsacks on our shoulders 1 
Those expeditions elicited the only sparks 

poetry in my nature I wrote verses 


LLA. lg* 

then, didn’t I, Englmann ? Wild effusion* 
befitting my age and education.” 

“I remember,” he answered; “they were 
all of a more martial than sentimental de- 
scription. You were always looking for sites 
whereon to build impregnable castles, and I 
trying to discover a nook suitable for the 
modest edifice, the possession of which would 
at that time have made me so immeasurably 
happy.” 

“That was the dreamy part of your life,*’ 
said Rupert ; “ it did not last long.” 

“Dreams never do; they are supposed 
only to occupy the moments immediately be- 
fore waking ; but they sometimes make a 
deep impression, nevertheless; and those to 
which you allude caused me to take a step 
that has influenced my whole life.” Rot 
aware of being understood by Cyrilla, he 
continued, “The wish to have a home to offer 
to one who would have been an. excuse for 
any other act of thoughtlessness, induced me, 
without proper reflection, to choose the church 
as my profession — I should rather say my 
means of subsistence.” 

“But,” said Rupert, “I never imagined 
that you did so unwillingly.” 

“.No; I did it willingly, gladly; but my 
motives were not what they ought to have 
been. When obliged to resign the being I 
had so idolized, the fulfilment of my religious 
duties became a toil to me — -my humble 
dwelling, without the beautiful companion I 
had hoped would have shared it with me, 
appeared mean and wretched'; in short, I 
saw the falseness of my position, saw my er- 
ror when too late, and felt that not only the 
pomps and vanities of this life had still strong 
hold on me, but that my natural tempera- 
ment struggled stubbornly against the re- 
straint imposed on words and actions.” 

“ You judge your motives and yourself with 
too much severity,” said Rupert. “ How 
many others have entered the church in the 
same way without any of the scruples and 
repentant humility which you experienced? ” 

“I trust not man} 7 ,” rejoined Englmann: 
“ no one should choose that profession with- 
out having the most decided preference or 
actual vocation for it : negligence in any other 
is mere personal worldly loss ; but a Chris- 
tian minister who neglects or is even indif- 
ferent in the performance of his duties, en- 
dangers not only his own welfare here and 
hereafter, but that of hundreds of others who 
naturally look to him for example and in- 
struction.” 

“My dear Englmann,” cried Rupert, “you 
are talking as if you had been the most worth- 
less of men. Allow me at least to inform my 
cousin that you are by many degrees the 
most pious and exemplary vicar that ever the 
village of Windhorst has possessed.” 

“ 1 have at least endeavoured to fulfil my 
duties faithfully,” said Englmann, quietly, 
“ and have been rewarded in a way I haidly 
dared to expect. I am now contented be- 
yond my hopes, and happy beyond my de- 
serts ; but not knowing or wishing to try 
how far I could bear temptation, and being 
quite convinced that, instead of seeking, I 
must ever avoid the excitements of society, I 


C Y R I L L A. 


i 


184 

find your house much too gay for me, Rupert, \ 
and if you have no objection, I shall leave it j 
to-morrow or the day after.” 

“ I have the greatest possible objection,” j 
answered Rupert, ' and insist on your re- 
maining, were it only to convince Cyriila that j 
you are not the weak wavering character \ 
you have represented yourself to be.” 

“Avoiding temptation is not weakness,” 
said Englmann. 

“Rut I cannot see even a shadow of temp- 
tation for you at Freilands,” persisted Rupert. 

“Because ypu don’t know my weaknesses, 
and have not the least idea how T still value 
the luxuries and enjoy the elegancies of life 
—how very soon they could again become 
indispensable to me! The years passed with 
you, and the habits acquired in your uncle’s 
house, have caused me more suffering than 
you can ever imagine ; but, putting myself 
out of the question, you surely must perceive 
that, in a house so constantly full of young 
and gay people as Freilands, I seem, with 
my reserved manners and peculiar dress, 
only placed among them like the veiled skele- 
ton at an Egyptian banquet, to call to remem- 
brance what they would all rather fomet.” 

V O 

“ Perhaps it would be as well if some of 
them were occasionally subject to a little re- 
straint,” said Rupert; “but as to the pecu- 
liarity of your dress, you must allow me to 
say, that 3’ ou carry it to excess now. The 
long hair is something quite new, and not at 
all necessary.” 

“I consider it advantageous to remind 
others, and through them myself, of my vo- 
cation.” 

“But I assure you, Englmann, if such a 
dress were de rigueur , it would be enough to 
deter many young men from taking orders.” 

“ Those who could be deterred, by any pe- 
culiarity of dress, from undertaking so sacred 
an office, had better turn their thoughts to 
something else.” 

“ You may be right,” said Rupert; “the 
dress would not have influenced me ; but I 
believe I should have avoided all extremes, 
all pedantry, as I now do everything that in 
any vr&y borders on foppery.” 

This remark seemed to strike Englmann : 
Rupert forgot it the moment the words pass- 
ed his lips. They had turned up the river, 
and were rowing against its scarcely percep- 
tible current: the banks at first, shaded to the 
water’s edge b3 T fine old trees, afforded a 
pleasant gh om after the glare of the lake ; 
for even a cloudless sky and the brightest 
sunbeams pall on the senses when long en- 
joyed, and change, even apparently 7 for the 
worse, is as necessary 7 to us as shade to a pic- 
ture. The scene was new to Englmann, and 
he stood up and listened with interest as Ru- 
pert explained his plans, pointed to his already 
reclaimed land, and rejoiced in the growth of 
his 3 T oung plantations. By degrees the latter 
began to dwindle into rather scraggy speci- 
mens of marsh-pine, dwarf birch, and stunted 
ihrubs, intermingled with large patches of 
heath ; and soon after an apparently endless 
expanse of brown and purple bog lay before 
them, the river widened, and the boat glided 
«a«ily into the waveless shallow waters of a 


dark-coloured lake, the shores of which were 
disfigured by 7 an over-luxuriant crop of reeds 
and bulrushes. 

“ Is this the source of the river ? ” asked 
Englmann. 

“No; the springs, as many of them as we 
could discover, are further on, where there 
is another lake even more desolate-looking 
than this. -Here, at least, I have some high 
ground for my village: the Yelm colonists, 
you know, are to build beside the road and 
canals that are to be made through the bog.” 

“ Cyriila,” said Rupert, as they stood on 
the landing-place and looked round them, 
“you cannot cros9 these fields to-day 7 , and 
this is rather a melancholy spot to leave you 

in suppose you were to row up the 

last lake.” F 

“Which is still more dreary 7 ,” said Cyriila, 
smiling. “ No, 1 shall sit quietly under the 
three pollards until you return: it is not the 
first time I have done so.” 

“ But y 7 ou have no book, or anything to 
amuse 3 T ou ” 

“I do not want amusement. Till the old 
fisherman to remain in the boat, and if I get 
tired of being here, I can go on the lake and 
look for aquatic plants : so pray do not re- 
turn a moment sooner than y r ou like on my 
account.” 


CHAPTER X L VIII. 

Cvrilla walked towards the pollards. They 
were but a few yards distant, and stood alone, 
hideous, yet picturesque ; for, strange to sa3 r , 
the last epithet cannot be denied them, so fre- 
quently have they been chosen by landscape 
painters as studies, or to furnish a foreground 
if not actual picture, with their thin foliage 
and deformed trunks. Half kneeling on the 
'seat beneath one of them, Cyriila watched her 
cousin and his companion, until, they disap- 
peared behind the osier-planted dyke that 
fenced the meadows from the encroachments 
of the water, and then collecting various marsh* 
plants, she wandered towards the lake, and 
perceived w ith great satisfaction that the fislier- 
man, overpowered by heat and recent exer- 
tion, was already 7 enjoying a sound sleep in the 
boat. 

The silence of a midsummer noon was around 
her, and the winged part of the insect world 
alone seeming fully 7 to enjoy and seek the 
shadeless heat, buzzed and hummed over the 
numerous slimy pools of stagnant water in 
ceaseless inexplicable activity, or with unsul- 
lied feet stalked airily on the oozy green sur- 
face, until disturbed by 7 some spotted frog, that, 
suddenly rising, spread destruction and terror 
around him, w hen darting with gaping mouth 
and outstretched legs across the pigmean do- 
maiu. 

Dragon and butterflies hovered above the 
sedges, and over the sleeping old man ; and it 
was when following their vagrant flights, that 
Cyriila observed something dark moving 
along the course of the river. A few moments' 
observation convinced her that it was a small 


C Y R I L L A . 


16 ft 


boat, and her beating heart told her, long be- 
fore the outline of the figure became distinct, 
that the solitary man in it was Zorndorff. 
Notwithstanding his physician’s injunctions 
that he should avoid violent exercise, he was 
rowing so energetically, that the little werry 
darted through the water 'with astonishing ve- 
locity ; and once on the lake, a very few pulls 
brought him so near the shore that, when at 
last lie paused and looked up, he at once per- 
ceived Cyrilla on the bank motionless — ex- 
pectant. 

Whatever thoughts of escape she may have 
momentarily entertained, none became appa- 
rent ; and though Zorndorff had known that the 
rain of the previous day would make the low 
meadows impassable for her, and had expected 
to find her nearly where she was, there was 
so much self-possession, if not resolution, in the 
erectuess of her figure and lightly folded arms, 
that it caused a sudden and complete change 
in his feelings and plans. He had followed 
tier in a state of fierce anger, determined to 
be inexorable — to insist — threaten — intimidate 
her ; and now, more than appeased by her 
willingness to meet him, and half dreading her 
evident displeasure, he rowed -slowly forward, 
meditating forms of expostulation and words 
of entreaty. 

As his boat ran alongside of the other, the 
fisherman raised himself on his elbow, and 
stared drowsily round him. Zorndorff, with 
an urbanity not common to him, requested he 
would not disturb himself — he did not want 
any assistance — hoped' he should be able to 
overtake Baron Adlerkron, and then sprang 
up the bank heedless of the old man’s answer, 
and only intent on having the reeds and rushes 
Detween them as soon as possible. 

Cyrilla waited until he had joined her, and 
then led the way to the seat beneath the pol- 
lards. 

A dead silence ensued. 

Zorndorff flung his straw-hat on the ground, 
and passed his handkerchief several times 
across his forehead. He wished her to speak, 
Out she sat down silently — her downcast eyes 
effectually concealing her fears from his in- 
quiring glances! 

“ You will scarcely be surprised at my ask- 
ing for some explanation of what you said to 
my uncle this morning, Cyrilla ? ” 

** I thought I had been sufficiently explicit, ” 
she answered, in a scarcely audible voice. 


“ Why, yes under any other circum- 
stances but you forget that I have a 


right to a different kind of answer now.” 

“ I rely upon your written promise, and 
abide by my answer.” 

“ But do you think that, without a gleam of 
hope, I can go on for ever enduring the restraint 
and jealousy you have made me suffer lately ? ” 
-asked Zorndorff, with ill-concealed irritation, 
as he sat down beside her. 

A bitter sarcasm trembled on Cyrilla’s lips. 
She did not give it utterance, but the sudden 
movement, indignant look, half-opened mouth 
— and then the listless sinking back against the 
tree, were too expressive to be misunderstood ; 
and Zorndorff, after a moment’s hesitation, in low 
«agei words of entreaty, begged her to forgive 
we past and believe in his sincere repentance. 


He would submit to any trial, wait any length 
of time, on condition that she would put an 
end to the hopes of Lindesmar, and whoever 
else aspired to her favour, by openly acknow- 
ledging, or allowing it to be understood, that 
she was engaged to him. 

“ Margaret is not yet three months in her 
grave ” began Cyrilla. 

‘ Pshaw ! ” he cried impetuously, “ I do 
not want you to proclaim it to the world. I 
only ask you to speak to me, look at me, dis- 
tinguish me, a little more than any one else 
only just enough to let people sup- 
pose 0, Cyrilla, you want no instruc- 

tion on these subjects. I never saw any wo- 
man who could show a prefeience more charm- 
ingly than you can. ” 

“ It is rather difficult to conceal where it 
exists,” she answered; “but I no ’onger feel, 
and will not feign it. ” 

“ What ! ” he exclaimed. “ Have I heard 
you rightly ? Say that over again. ” 

Cyrilla repeated her words distinctly, adding, 
that she hoped they might induce him to con- 
sent to at least constant separation — the only 
favour she would henceforward request of 
him ; and she trusted that time would make 
the tie that connected them as irksome to him 
as it had loDg been to her. 

Utterly hopeless of moving him, and ren- 
dered desperate by her wretchedness, there 
was a decision in her manner so new to Zorn- 
dorff, that he gazed at her in astonishment for 
some moments ; and then the possibility that 
he had tried her affection and patience quite 
beyond endurance began at last to enter his 
mind — the mere idea of renewed separation 
making her dearer to him than ever. He 
reasoned, expostulated, and entreated, with an 
ardour and earnestness that could not have 
been heard unmoved, had she become merely 
indifferent to him ; but fear and aversion were 
working so strongly within her, that though 
she partly succeeded in concealing the former, 
the latter was so perfectly evident, as she 
drew back with a shudder when he attempted 
to put his arm round her, that he stood up, 
and making a violent effort to appear compos 
ed, said slowly, — 

“ You seem altogether to forget our relation 

to each other remember that no barrier 

now exists between us.” 

“ I trust there is still an insuperable one,' - ' 
said Cyrilla — “your own interest. You are 
not likely to proclaim yourself a bigamist, oi 
resign your wife’s fortune for a woman who 
has altogether ceased to care for you.” 

“ For that last contingency I have sedulously 
provided bv remittances to America,” he an 
swered, calmly ; “ and once there, Cyrilla, 1 
shall concern myself very little about my 
reputation here.” 

This answer overwhelmed her, and it was 
long before she could filter : “ Still I rely on 
your promise of forbearance — for even the 
most unprincipled men have some vague ideas 
of honour!” 

Zorndorff turned away, and seemed moved 
to an extent that he did not wish her to ob- 
serve ; but with true feminine quickness she 
percei red it, and a gleam o r hope passed 
| across her mind, as she add' d ; “ I can scarcely 


186 


CYRILLA. 


think that you will secure your own happiness 
by wrecking mine so completely.” 

“ It is your own fault, Cyrilla,” he exclaim- 
ed, vehemently. 

“ True ; but not the less hard to be borne on 
that account.” 

“ You mistake me; I did not refer to our 
marriage,” he said, quickly : “ much as we have 
both suffered, I have never regretted that for 
one moment.. If you cannot pardon, and will 


hands to her eyes, and then pushing back hei 
hair from her colcurless face, she looked sc 
wildly round her, as effectually to silence her 
companions, and fix the attention of both on 
her exclusively. 

With a deep sigh, she once more sat down 
and no sooner had a faint tinge of red begun 
to colour her lips, than Zorndorff stood erect 
before her, his eyes flashing, \tfhile he asked 


not acknowledge it now — it is your fault, not 
mine. You trust to time — so will I. Remain 
as you are, if such be your desire, and l shall 
endeavour to bear with resignation this tem- 
porary loss of your affection, considering it a 
due punishment for my — offence.” 

“Your crime” said Cyrilla, angry and disap- 
pointed at being deprived of the last hope to 
which she had unconsciously clung. 

“ Be it so,” he answered, approaching her 
closely, “ be it so ; but to conceal one crime 
men often commit another ; and,” he added, in 
the low and terribly distinct tones of suppress- 
ed passion, “ and if you will not be my wife — 
by God ! — you shall never be that of any other 
man:’ 

“You need not swear,” she said, shrinking 

visibly ; “ I see that I must submit death 

itself any tiling is preferable to being your 

wife.” 

“ Recall those words, Cyrilla. You may wish 
them unspoken when it is too late. Do not 
drive me to extremities.” 

At this moment, they both perceived Ru- 
pert advancing towards them with long strides. 
From the roof of one of the houses, where he 
had mounted to inspect the rafters, he had 
seen that Cyrilla was not alone, and instantly 
suspecting that Zorndorff had followed her, he 
rushed across the swampy fields, in the hope 
of saving her from an interview she had so evi- 
dently wished to avoid. One glance convinced 
him that he had arrived too late ; but, without 
bestowing any attention on ZorndorfFs angry 
mien, he sprang up the bank to Cyrilla, stoop- 
ed, and whispered eagerly : “ May I not speak 
— may I not interfere now ? ” 

“ No, no, no,” she cried, anxiously ; “ we have 
had, I trust, our final explanation : it was ne- 
cessary, and I ought not to have tried to avoid 
it” 

“ Adlerkron,” said Zorndorff, turning haugh- 
tily to Rupert ; “ I am aware that you have 
heard of your cousin’s promise — engagement 
in fact to me. As her nearest relation, you 
ought to be informed also, that I never will 
cede any of the rights she has given me.” 

“Not even if she should avow a preference 
for some one else ? ” asked Rupert. 

ZorndorfFs instant start convinced Cyrilla 
that the actual probability of such a thing had 
never really entered his mind until that mo- 
ment. As he strode forward, with a fierce 
gesture, she sprang from her seat, exclaiming; 
“ Edouard, I entreat — 0, Rupert, what have 
you said ? ” 

Perhaps it was a fortunate circumstance that 
terror just then produced a sudden faintness, 
and that, appalled by the overpowering sensa- 
tion of momentarily increasing weakuess, she 
was obliged to lean against the trunk of the 
nearest tr^e for support. First pressing her 


“ Is this true ? ” 

She covered her face with her hands, and 
burst into tears. 

“ Zorndorff,” cried Rupert, angrily; “ I can- 
not allow you to annoy my cousin in this man- 
ner. You have no right” 

“ Have I not ? ” said Zorndorff, appealing to 
Cyrilla. 

Her answer was a fresh burst of tears. 

“ Incomprehensible ! ” exclaimed Rupert ; 
“excepting” he added, looking steadily at 
Zorndorff, “ excepting, as I have all along sus- 
pected, you are taking advantage of some re- 
ligious scruple on her part” 

“ Precisely,” said Zorndorff, who seemed to 
have regained all his usual cynical composure • 
“ and 1 shall continue to do so as the only 
means of obtaining what has now become my 
first object in life.” 

“ But,” cried Rupert, beginning to get exas- 
perated ; “ this scruple; if sufficiently well- 
founded to bind her even now, ought surely to 
have prevented you from marrying?” 

“ I wish to heaven it had 1 ” cried Zorndorff, 
with a sudden burst of natural feeling, that 
changed the whole expression of his face. “ I 
would rather have grovelled in poverty all my 
life than have heard what Cyrilla has said to 
me this day.” 

“ But having heard it,” said Rupert, “ there 
is but one course for you to pursue.” , 

Cyrilla said nothiug, but she looked up 
through her tears, and watched his countenance 
with the deepest anxiety. A violent internal 
struggle was evident as Zorndorff walked back- 
wards and forwards before them. He first mut- 
tered a few angry ejaculations, and then spoke : 
“ No, Adlerkron — it cannot be — you do not 
know the sacrifice you expect from me. She 
is mine — and mine she must remain. Once foi 
all, she shall not — cannot — dare not even think 
of any one but me.” 

“ Cyrilla,” cried Rupert, in a voice trembling 
with passion ; “ must I — mu9t you listen to this 
without contradiction ?” 

“She cannot contradict it,” said Zorndorff, 
calmly ; “ but I have promised forbearance knd 
— silence, trusting that beyond a certain point 
my patience will not be tried. Understand 
me rightly, Cyrilla,” he continued, approaching 
her: “A home and something more than a 
competence awaits me in America ; but — I will 
not emigrate — alone.” 

“ O, anything — anything but that ! ” cried 
Cyrilla, in a voice of anguish. 

Rupert, completely bewildered, looked from 
one to the other. He breathed shortly and 
audibly. 

“ I do not ask,” added Zorndorff, with a 
good deal of emphasis, “ but I recommend you 
to be as silent as I have promised to be. More 
than your own fate depends on your words and 
actions for the next few month* ; and as I shaB 


I 


C Y H I 

eave Freilands to-day, excuse my taking ad- 
vantage of this opportunity to request that 
•hese rides, and rows, and rambles with your 
*ousin, may henceforward cease altogether: 
now that I know the nature of your feelings 
towards him, you can scarcely expect me to 
permit them any longer.” He turned to leave 
them as he ceased speaking. 

“ Stay,” cried Rupert, impetuously — “ stay 
antil I have asked Cyrilla if she will submit to 
being spoken to in this manner.” 

“ O yes, yes,” she said, hastily, alarmed at 
Rupert’s violence. “Let him say what he 
pleases. I will submit to anything rather than 
— than — Oh, God, how unhappy I am ! ” she 
exclaimed, bursting into fresh tears, “ and all 
— all my own fault ! ’ 

“ There is some dreadful mystery — some 
secret here which I ought to know,” said Ru- 
pert, turning to Zorndorffi •* and I must insist 
on being told it without delay or circumlocu- 
tion.” 

“ From me you shall never hear it,” answer- 
ed Zorndorff, haughtily. “ I leave Cyrilla to 
confide as much or as little as she pleases to 
you : she knows what the consequences will be 
and, without waiting to see the effect of his 
words, he sprang down the bank and disap- 
peared in a moment. 

“ I have heard strange words,” said Rupert, 
in a constrained voice. “ May I hope that you 
will make them intelligible to me ? ” 

“ Impossible, Rupert.” 

“ Then you are really, as he gave me to un- 
derstand, completely in his power ? ” 

“ Oh, so completely that I must obey him — 
and — give you up for ever.” 

“ I suppose it must be so,” he rejoined, gloom- 
ily, and then stood with his arms folded, and 
his eyes bent on the ground, beside her in si- 
lence for some minutes. The result of his 
meditations was not of a satisfactory nature. 
There was something glacial in his manner and 
voice as he abruptly asked, “ What are your 
plans for the future ? ” 

“ I thought of going to Fernanda, but he has 
told Melanie that he will follow me.” 

“ I doubt his doing so,” said Rupert, “ now 
that he has accomplished our separation. Be- 
sides, it would avail him little. Fernanda is 
not Melanie : a handsome face and person is 
no passport to her favour ; and what she has 
heard from you will be sufficient to close her 
doors against him irrevocably.” 

“ She has not heard much from me ” 

began Cyrilla. 

“ What ! Have you not told Fernanda 
all?” 

“ I had not courage. She would have des- 
pised me for my weakness and folly, and then 
insisted on my acting in a manner which, 
though it might have satisfied her .ideas of 
right and honour, would have made me even 
more wretched than I am.” 

Rupert started forward, grasped her arm, 
tnd looked inquiringly in her face ; but as she 
raised her eyes to his, wirh a melancholy yet 
perfectly unembarrassed gaze, his features sud- 
denly relaxed. He blushed deeply, and per- 
ceiving that she expected him to speak, said 
hurriedly: “There is no hope of our under- 
standing each other, Cyrilla. 1 am plain-spoken 


L L A . 18 5 ? 

to a fault ; you seem made up of mystery. We 
must part, and for both our sakes the sooner 
the better.” 

“ Shall I ask Melanie to leave Freilandg 
before the time she intended ? ” asked Cyrilla. 
timidly. 

“ No ; that might create an unnecessary sen- 
sation in Exfort. We can avoid each other for 
the remaining fortnight that we shall be under 
the same roof. None but the Bellegardes will 
observe it — they will suppose that we have 
quarrelled ” 

“ But we have not, Rupert — we have not ? ” 
she asked, deprecatingly. “ Oh, my dear cousin, 
say that you will at least continue to be my 
friend.” 

“ Your friend ! ” he repeated, with a forced 
lai/gh ; “ assuredly your friend, and ever ready 
to be employed in your service.” 

“ Just then Englmann’s approach was ob- 
served by both with feelings of relief. Cyrilla 
turned away to hide her face, on which the 
traces of recent grief were still evident. Wha' 
ever reproaches the Vicar might have intended 
to make for having been so unceremoniously 
deserted, they found no utterance. He pre- 
tended not to observe the agitation of bis com- 
panions ; but, walking quietly to the boat, fol- 
lowed by the fisherman’s son, he spread out 
the school-house plans on his knee, and did not 
even look up as they passed him, when taking 
their places under the awning. Rupert’s 
answers to his first remarks were terribly con- 
fused. Afterwards, however, having apologized 
for his inattention, he seemed determined to 
force or feign an interest, and actually succeeded 
in speaking very rationally and calmly, wdiile 
Cyrilla, wrapped in her sorrow, leaned back, 
and gazed vacantly along the glittering wrnter, 
unheedful of their conversation. Suddenly her 
attention was arrested by Rupert’s lowering his 
voice, so as not to be beard by the boatman. 
He said that he was about to leave Freilauds 
for many years, and greatly wished that the 
Vicar would take charge of his Velm colony — 
that he would build him a house — give him a 
large tract of land — do anything, in short, that 
would be an inducement to him. And Eugl- 
mann raised no difficulties. He spoke of “ home 
missions,” “ happy consciousness of not having 
lived altogether unprofitably,” and — consulting 
his wife. 

Grief makes us selfish. As Cyrilla v/alked 
on before them to the house, the loss of Rupert’s 
presence, energy, and boundless generosity to 
his colonists, appeared trifling in comparison to 
what she must suffer when deprived of his 
society and accustomed attentions. The con- 
tinuation of these would have enabled her to 
have gone on for years iu that sort of melan- 
choly uncertainty so often patiently endured by 
her sex, so intolerable to his. Women are so 
imaginative, especially in youth, that there are 
few who have not composed some mournful 
romance, in which, naturally reserving the most 
interesting part for themselves, they are loving, 
heartless, proud, generous, vindictive, or forgiv- 
ing. precisely as these qualities preponderate in 
their character. Were these flights of fancy 
honestly confessed what an unfolding of dispo- 
sition were there ! Asa proof of stronger and 
more healthy imagination, we may consider th* 


*88 


CYRILLA. 


meeting aside of themselves, extending their 
views, and making others to will, to do, and to 
suffer. There is little reason to doubt that 
fnany do so, and are as unconsciously authors 
of fiction as M. Jourdaiu was a speaker of 
prose. 

Cyrilla, in imagination, then saw Rupert 
leave Freilands; went through the parting 
interview with horrible minuteness. H« was 
at Berlin, Vienna, Constantinople, and Jerusa- 
lem, as quickly as she walked pensively a few 
slow steps. He wrote letters from Lebanon, 
and let his beard grow — Alexandria — Lloyd 
steamboats and Italy. He is coming home — 

she will see him again ; but Virginie meets 

him at St. Bernhard or somewhere any- 

where .... and tells him of her love that had 
commenced in clfildhood, and gone on increas- 
ing since with every year. Aud Riipert had 
seen no face he knew, and heard do voice 
familiar to his ear for years. What wonder, 
then, that he .... he should .... yes, they were 

married, and he was returning to Freilands 

they were driving to the door — aud she was 
but one of the many friends assembled to meet 
them ! 

Her senses had greatly aided this hasty con- 
clusion. The sound of rapidly trotting horses 
and rolling carriage-wheels had reached her 
ear ; aud, before she could answer Melanies 
request, eagerly made from one of the windows, 
that “she would come up stairs for a few 
minutes,” Klemmheiu’s phaeton, with Madame 
de Bellegarde in it, drove to the door. Iu a 
rather hurried and conscious manner, the latter 
informed Rupert that Virginie had gone into 
Exfort to expedite a letter of importance to 
Italy; that Victor had refused to come with 
them, because he had not yet recovered the 
disappointment about the lost appoiutmeut; 
and that Henri w T as in such execrable humour, 
she was glad to escape from him. “ But, my 
dear Cyrilla,” she added, turning suddenly 
round, “ do you know that the children are 
waiting for you all this time at the ford, where 
you promised to meet them ?” 

“ I suppose,” she continued, appealing to 
Rupert, “ there is no danger there, though the 
water is rather high ? I ask, because Hortense 
is with them.” 

“ No danger,” replied Rupert, “ but every 
piobability of their slipping into the water and 
being w r e*t, if not frightened. 1 think, Engl- 
mann, we had better go for them.” 

Madame de Bellegarde not being able to dis- 
cover what possible use she could be at the 
ford, and having satisfied her maternal anxiety 
by providing some one to assist her daughter 
over the inundated stepping-stones, turned into 
the lime-tree walk with Klennnhein, while 
Melanie, following Cyrilla, whispered in an un- 
easy, hurried manner, “ I have seen Edouard, 
and heard all. Heaven only knows what the 
consequences of your confession will be. Fie 
said In? had been less jealous of Rupert latterly 
than of Count Lindesmar ; so if you bad only 
preserved the secret of your unfortunate pre- 
ference, all might still have gone on quietly.” 

“ I scarcely remember how it was betrayed,” 
said Cyrilla, dejectedly. “They seemed to 
understand each other’s looks. But it is of 
L.tle importaace . . this day has separated me 


from both for ever. Rupert intends to travel, 
and I shall go to Ferjanda." 

“ I believe,” said Melanie, thoughtfully, “ it 
is the best arrangement that can be made 
Time may yet set all to rights, and the climate 
of Italy do wonders for you.” 

“ Oh, Melanie, how cau you talk so lightly ! * 

“ But, dear Cyrilla,” rejoined Melanie, a little 
embarrassed ; “ when you hear that Rupert has 
got over his disappointment, which, believe me, 
lie will with astonishing facility, you surely do 
not mean to go on pining in this way. No 
health — no constitution could bear it ” 

“ I shall not pine for what I cannot obtain,” 
said Cyrilla, with a faint smile ; “ and you may 
be quite sure of my making every exertion to 
overcome all useless regrets. Fernanda’s 
society will be of essential service to me ; and 
witnessing her happiness will, I hope, indemnify 
me in some measure for the loss of my own.” 

When they reached the ford, Rupert was 
just springing over the large stones, which, 
though covered with water, were still visible. 
Englmann was about to follow, when Tina 
called out from the other side of the stream, 
“ Don’t wet your feet, papa ; it will make you ill. 
I can get over quite well alone ;* and, quickly 
drawing of her shoes and stockings, she danced 
along the grassy bank, and dabbled with her 
small white feet in the water. 

“ You are a good, considerate little girl,’ 
said Rupert, with a smile. “ Pertl, make haste, 
and follow her example. You can scarcely 
expect me to carry you over, I should think. 
Come, Hortense,” he added, carelessly throwing 
his arm round the tall, blushing girl ; “ keep 
your feet out of the water as well as you can, 
and don’t pretend to get giddy as you did the 
last time I carried you.” 

The children followed them, and their eager 
jumps from stone to stone were watched with 
interest by Englmann, Melanie, and Cyrilla 
As they sat down afterwards on the grass, 
Hortense pointed with her long, narrow, gray- 
booted foot to Tina’s shoes, remarking super- 
ciliously, “ You need not have carried them in 
your hand ; they are strong enough to bear the 
water — quite boy’s shoes ! ” 

“ Very good shoes,” said the little girl, com- 
posedly. 

“ 0, no doubt ; and the stockings, too 

but they are rather coarse I wonder they 

don’t hurt your feet.” 

“ Hurt me ! ” cried Tina, indignautly. Mam- 
ma knit them.” 

“ Why didn’t she knit some for Pertl, too ? 
he has none at all ! ” said Hortense, deridingly 

This was a fact which no one else had ob- 
served. The boy’s face became crimson. A 
painful flush, too, passed over his father’s 
features ; and then lie bent down, and whis- 
pered, “ Have you none, my son ? ” 

“ I have .... I have . . . .” he answered, with 
difficulty restraining tears of vexation ; “ but 
mamma told me to save them until I returned 
to school ; and I thought no one here would 

know and no one would have seen . . . . ii 

that nasty girl ” 

“ Pertl ! ” said his father, reproachfully. 

“ She’s always laughing at Tina about her 
dress ; and Jerome and Lucian say that I am 
a plebeian, because I have not velvet jacket# 


C YRILL A. 


18 $ 


Eke theirs. I don’t like any of the Belle- 
gardes.” 

“ Well, put on your boots, and don’t talk any 
raoie about it,” said his father, perceiving that 
the cousins had walked on together. 

“ Cyrilla I mean to say, Melanie,” began 

Rupert, as soon as he was out of hearing, “ I 
have been shamefully negligent about these 
children. Will you have the kindness to take 
them to-morrow into Exfort, and order what- 
ever clothes they may want ? ” 

“ With pleasure,” said Melanie ; “ a little 
dress would certainly improve Tina. She is 
fresh-looking, and can wear blue. What do 
you think of a round hat, with blue Mbbon 
rosettes, and . . . 

“Anything you please,” said Rupert “I 
daresay they both want a lot of things, and 
have been desired by their parents not to let 
me observe it. Pertl, poor fellow ! has actually 
but one jacket, I believe.” 

“ I am afraid I cannot manage for him. I 
don’t like — I mean I don’t understand anything 
about boys, or their coats, or or ” 

“ Will you trust me ?” asked Cyrilla, gently. 
" I am almost sure that I know exactly what 
you mean.” 

Rupert’s answer was inaudible, for his lips 
were pressed to her hand ; and, as he raised his 
head, his eyes were full of tears. 

A moment afterwards he was playing with 
Pertl, drawing his straw hat over his face, until 
the sunburnt crown was forced completely up- 
wards. 

The boy looked dismayed. 

K Never mind,” whispered Tina ; “ I can sew 
it for you when we get home.” 

“ No,” said Rupert ; “ he shall have a new 
one to-morrow. I think I want one myself, 
too,” he added, taking his own off his head and 
twirling it on his hand ; “ it has scarcely the 
form of a hat since Alphonse made a boat of it ! ” 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

Cyrilla saw intuitively the line of conduct 
that Rupert wished her to adopt; and as he 
became graver, quieter, and more occupied 
than ever, his consultations with Englmann 
2nd visits to the marsh still more frequent, 
^he, in unobtrusive imitation of his example, 
finished the drawings for the President’s 
album, drove with Melanie to Exfort and 
Neuhof, and took long walks with the chil- 
dren ; but the constant exertion in sucli warm 
weather only served to add languor to the 
depression of mind consequent on her total 
estrangement from Rupert, and soon even be- 
gan to undermine her health in a manner that 
no effort on her part could altogether conceal. 

Virginie, informed by Zorndorff of all that 
had occurred, and instantly perceiving that 
the cousins now mutually avoided each other, 
resolved to take advantage of the opportunity 
to insinuate herself still more into Rupert s 
confidence and favour. He could not repulse 
her, or even show his indifference as he had 
done at first ; for she had to a certain extent 
placed herself under his protection, by re- 
maining at Freilands after the day on which 


she had accepted pecuniary assistance from 
him. In a quiet, scarcely perceptible man- 
ner, he had since then been obliged to defend 
her. from th>: naughty tolerance of Melanie, 
and the not less mortifying cold politeness of 
Cyrilla, who both, while exhibiting their vir- 
tuous indignation, and using that power of 
tormenting which the former so fluently con- 
demned as the cause of most of the misery in 
this world, forgot that they were giving a 
proud and vindictive woman an additional 
incentive to pursue the course she meditated. 
Unconsciously, too, but most effectually, they 
had assisted in forwarding her deeply laid 
plans; for, convinced at length that she 
could not obtain from Rupert more than the 
interest and regard lie had ever professed 
and shown for her, she now placed all her 
hopes on his nice, perhaps exaggerated, 
ideas of honour ; and would have willingly 
borne the contumely of the whole world, 
provided that he could have been made to 
see and feel that she was exposed to it, and 
even in the remotest decree attach blame to 
himself. Of the result in that case she was 
certain. The day before Englmann and his 
children left Freilands, Cyrilla took a last 
very long walk with them. It was the 
beginning of August, the weather unusually 
sultry even for that time of year, and she was 
afterwards proportionally fatigued ; but the 
Bellegardes came to spend the evening — ex- 
ertion was necessary — it was made, and not the 
slightest flagging of spirits or lassitude was 
suffered to become apparent. She consoled 
the children, when taking leave, by promising 
to see them in the morning, and accompanied 
them out of the drawing-room when they 
went to bed ; but on returning to it through 
the music-room, which had latterly been 
quite deserted, and was then but faintly 
lighted by the lamps from the other apart- 
ments, she threw herself on one of the low 
luxuriously-cushioned divans, intending to 
rest for a quarter of an hour, and over- 

come by weakness and weariness, fell fast 
asleep. 

The departure of the Bellegardes, inquiries 
about herself, and surmises as to the proba- 
bility of her having gone to bed, with all the 
unavoidable commotion of separating for the 
night, failed to waken her, though it may 
have disturbed, and perhaps assisted ii> 
making more vivid her confused dreams of 
wandering on marshy ground in pursuit of 
Rupert and Virginie, followed closely by 
Zorndorff, from whom she in vain endeavour- 
ed to escape. The comparative tranquillity 
that followed would in all probability have 
made her slumbers more profound, had not 
soon after the sound of the very voices she 
expected to hear become suddenly" audible, 
and it seemed a continuation of her dream, 
as she heard Rupert with some vehemence 
exclaim, “ Virginie, I insist on an explanation 
of these words ; such insinuations are unpar- 
donable if they are not well founded ...... 

Speak What has Zorndorff said te 

you ? ” 

“ Nothing I will never name Cyrilla 

! again if you do not wish it,’- she answered* 

| deprecatingW. 


t90 


CYRILLA. 


“1 do wish it — I must, and will know what 
you mean ! ” 

“ Only what I said, dear Rupert only 

what I said that a mere promise need 

not be kept secret, no matter how solemn it 
may be. Why should not the President be 
told and consulted? Why should not you 
know all the particulars, if there were not 
(to say the least) some very unusual cause for 
silence ? ” 

Cyrilla rose. She knew now that she was 
not dreaming that Yirginie was with Rupert 
in the large drawing-room ; she saw through 
the open doorways that the lamps were still 
burning there, though they had been extin- 
guished in the intervening room. With the 
quickness of lightning she recollected, too, 
that Yirginie was in the habit of remaining 
every night to speak some additional words 
to Rupert ; that once or twice, when she had 
descended the stairs with her and Melanie, 
she had returned to seek a forgotten hand- 
kerchief or book ; and these nocturnal tete-d 
tetes were taken advantage of to poison his 
mind against her in the most ungenerous man- 
ner. Yet she could not explain, could not 
attempt to contradict what she had heard ; 
for, alas! it was but too true that “there 
was a very unusual cause for silence.” 

As these ideas passed through Cyrilla’s 
mind, she prepared to leave the room unob- 
served as she had entered it, when her atten- 
tion was attracted by hearing a half-stifled 
exclamation of astonishment, followed by a 
few words of inquiry about herself uttered 
hastily by her sister. “She is not in her 
room,” added Melanie, “ and no one has seen 
her since the children went to bed two hours 
ago.” 

Cyrilla turned back, saying, “I am here, 
Melanie, and have been sleeping on the sofa 
in the music room.” 

Her appearance seemed to complete the 
consternation of Yirginie ; she shaded her 
already downcast eyes with her hand, and 
endeavoured to sink still further back in her 
chair. Rupert bit his lip and looked vexed ; 
but the milder feeling changed into something 
nearly approaching to anger, as Melanie 
swept past him, and drawing Cyrilla’s arm 
within hers, said in a low but perfectly dis- 
tinct voice, “ Come, dearest — we are evident- 
ly de trop here! ” 

Yirginie glanced furtively towards Rupert, 
and then covered her face with her hands, 
apparently overwhelmed with dismay at the 
implied reproach. He stood at a little dis- 
tance, trying to overcome his irritation and 
hide his embarrassment by lighting the 
candle she had deliberately extinguished 
half an hour before ; and then, with some 
hesitation, said, “ Excuse my reminding you, 
Yirginie, that you have brought this annoy- 
ance on yourself. I have repeatedly 

objected to I mean, that much as I 

enjoy your society I have ever wished 

you to avoid doing anything that 

rshaw 1 you know what I want to 

say.” 

“ I know that you have ever been most 
kind, most considerate,” answered Yirginie, 
looking up suddenly, while shaking her 


head in a veiy distracted manner. “I hav« 
borne much from both your cousins lately,’" 
she added, rising ; “ ancl would bear more, 
Rupert, in order to be near you ; but after 
what has just occurred, I cannot remain 
longer in this house.” 

“ Nor can I urge you,” said Rupert, a good 
deal moved at her distress, though doubtful 
if it were altogether genuine. 

“ I see,” she began, with some bitterness, 
“ you are tired of me 

“Not so,” he cried eagerly; “you (^uite 
misunderstand me ; and, indeed, on consider- 
ation, perhaps it would be better if you were 
to remain here until our party breaks up 
finall} T . I shall explain every thing satisfac- 
torily to Melanie to-morrow.” 

“ Do not attempt it ; she will not believe 
you. I have long perceived that she imputes 
the most odious and sordid motives to all my 
actions ; but you who have known me from 
earliest infancy, judge me otherwise, I trust. 
You know my innocence — you know that my 
affection for you has grown with my growth 
and strengthened ( with my strength — you 
know that it is of a deeper, stronger nature 
than Melanie has ever even dreamed. Ru- 
pert,” she added, solemnly approaching him ; 
“ before we part, say that you at least have 
never doubted this — that, with all my faults 
and follies, you have never suspected me of 
ignoble thoughts or worldly speculations.” 

“Never for a moment,” said Rupert, 
warmly. 

“Say also if you can that you 

have not learned utterly to despise me for 
my weakness.” 

O, well Yirginie knew, as she pronounced 
these words, that lino man ever despised a 
woman for having a too sensible perception 
of his excellencies, whether of mind or person, 
or both ; and Rupert formed no exception to 
the general rule. He did not despise at all 
the companion of his youth for so decided a 
proof of intellect and discernment ; and had 
he been quite sure that her graceful attitude 
of anxious inquiry was unstudied, he might 
have answered more at length, and more ap- 
propriately ; but even what he said was suf- 
ficient to move his hearer more than he 
expected or wished, and he was obliged to 
add, “ Now, pray, dear Yirginie, be rational, 
and do not work yourself into a useless state 
of excitement.” 

“You need not fear it, I am past all that; 
now,” she answered, almost in a whisper; 
“I have nothing more to hope or fear, gain 
or lose in this world.” 

As the light of the candle she then raised 
from the table fell strongly on her face, he 
perceived that her features were fixed and 
livid. This could not be acting, and he said, 
gently, “ Believe me, Yirginie, I am at this 
moment far more unhappy than you are. 
You have your child, your mother, sisters 
brother — many to love and care for you — my 
hopes were all centred in one, and my lot 
has been the bitterest disappointment.” 

“Forget it,” said Yirginie, without looking 

up ; “ forget her, and be happy again , 

as happy as you deserve to be more J 

cannot wish you and now adieu.” 


ii YKIL.L A. 


191 


- Good-night,” 6aid Rupert. 

“Adieu,” she repeated, with emphasis; “I 
shall leave Freilands to-morrow ; and as I 
have resolved to go to my father-in-law, we 
are not likely to mest again for years — if 
ever. Will you not say, farewell? Before 
your cousins, to-morrow, I know you dare 
cot show regard for one so forlorn and 
worthless as I am.” 

Rupert half smiled, while he assured her 
that their presence should be no restraint 
whatever on him : and he kept his word, for 
when, the next day, Yirginie, with a timidity 
half affected, half real, took leave of them, 
Melanie’s frigid dignity and Cyrilla’s scarcely 
concealed dislike so provoked him, that he 
fairly embraced her in their presence ; kiss- 
ing from her flushed cheeks the unrestrained 
tears of resentment and mortification. 

Silence seemed to fall on the house as she 
left it. The Bellegardes came not that day 
or the following; and just when their unity 
was completely destroyed, the small family 
party found themselves alone for the first 
time. The President, indeed, seemed per- 
fectly satisfied with the tranquillity around 
him : to him the discontent of his compan- 
ions never became apparent. Rupert polite- 
ly, the others carefully endeavoured to con- 
ceal it from him during the few hours he 
daily spent with them : but to each other the 
case was different ; and though Rupert’s ef- 
forts to appear cheerful, and the necessary 
attentions to his cousins were unremitting, 
they saw his struggles, and to relieve him 
from the constraint which they more than 
suspected their presence caused him, began 
to drive into Exfort every morning, and 
spend the greater part of the day there or at 
Neuhof. Yirginie, perfectly aware of the 
advantages of silence on most occasions, had 
entered into no explanation with any of her 
family; and they all concurred in applaud- 
ing her resolution to reside with her father- 
in-law, while jestingly hinting that she would 
only do so until her finances were recruited. 
To Rupert, Madame de Bellegarde regretted 
the exaggerated delicacy of feeling which 
had induced her sister to decline General 
•Kersdorff’s proposal. “Henri and I,” she 
added, “used all our eloquence to persuade 
her. It would have been so pleasant for us, 
you know, and Yirginie might have con- 
tinued to reside here, and enjoy without in- 
terruption the society of those she 

most likes.” 

His answer was so guarded that she could 
not remember it when she wrote to Yirginie; 
but /she mentioned that he looked unhappy 
and harassed; and that both Melanie and 
Cyrilla would willingly leave Freilands if 
the President were not determined to stay 
there until the exact day appointed for the 
termination of his visit when he had accept- 
ed the invitation. 

This was true — and she might have added, 
they boldi wished to leave Exfort also ; and 
that even the prospect of going to Aix was 
spoken of with satisfaction — Melanie openly 
expressing her hopes that change of air and 
scene would be of use to her sistei’s health, 


which had latterly begun to decline in an 
..alarming manner. 

Cyrilla herself never complained of suffer- 
ing, either bodily or mental ; she seemed at 
last to have acquired the most perfect resig- 
nation, avoiding, even when alone with Me- 
lanie, all reference to the past, all anticipa- 
tions of the future ; but, while enduring 
with fortitude the sorrow she had brought 
upon herself, she deeply deplored the share 
she had imposed on Rupert, whose feverish 
restlessness, as the time of separation drew 
near, w r as painful to witness. 

Nor was Zorndorff happy in his successful 
villany. Continually tormented with doubts 
and suspicions of the most complicated de- 
scription, he greatly regretted his harsh 
threats at the termination of the last inter- 
view with Cyrilla ; longed ardently for an 
opportunity of conciliating her, and conse- 
quently looked forward with impatience to 
the return of the Falkensteins to Exfort, in 
order to have her once more in his uncle’s 
house, where he hoped, by patience and de- 
votion, to remove the fears he had so evi- 
dently inspired. sEIis consternation and 
anndyance were greater than can easily 
be imagined, when one day informed by 
Klemmiiein that, as Rupert’s leave of absence 
had been prolonged, it was supposed the 
President would consent to remain some 
time longer with him. Almost angrily, 
Zorndorff insisted that his uncle would cer- 
tainly return on the 12th — he was sure that 
nothing would induce him to change his 
plans, as he had important business to trails 
act before he went to Aix. Ilis informant, 
perfectly indifferent on the subject, was soon 
convinced that he had been mistaken ; but a 
doubt so provoking remained on Zorndorff’s 
own mind, that, unwilling as he was to enter 
the precincts of Freilands, he sought and 
found an excuse for doing so, and the follow- 
ing day rode there at an early hour, apolo- 
gizing, as he drew up his horse before the 
breakfast-room window, where his uncle was 
sitting, for being obliged to disturb him with 
business even on a Sunday morning. 

Rupert and Cyrilla, who had changed 
colour with equal rapidity at the unexpected 
sound of his voice, rose at the same moment, 
intending to leave the room, had not the 
President, from consideration for the latter, 
passed them quickly, and joining h:s nephew 
in the hall, retired with him to a seat under 
one of tjie trees on the lawn. 

Cyrilla sat down again, Rupert walked to 
one of the windows, just in time to see a sol- 
dier of his regiment give a letter to one of 
the servants, and merely saying, “No an- 
swer,” touch his cap and ride off again. 

The letter v r as brought to Rupert, who 
observed, as lie opened it, “From Maier! 
If he want another day's shooting, I shall 
put him off' until next week, Cyrilla, as 1 
know both you and Melanie dislike him.” 

“ Not exactly,” she answered, hesitatingly; 
“but his appearance is unprepossessing, and 
made a disagreeable impression on us th€ 
first time we saw him.” 

“He is not handsome, certainly,” said R« 


192 


C TRILL A. 


pert, “ nor are any of the family ; his bro- 
ther Caspar was even plainer, and Zorndorff 
completed his ugliness, by giving him a sabre 
wound in a duel that left a scar on his face 
he will carry to his grave. Poor fellow, that 
tame scar greatly increased his difficulties, 
when he was endeavouring to escape to 
America three years ago. He was some 
weeks concealed at Spa, while descriptions 
of him and it were in all the newspapers. 
Ah, here is a letter from him, the first I have 
received since his expatriation, enclosed to 
his brother, and dated nearly two months 
ago. But what is all this about ? Statement 
o? facts — confession — Zorndorff — Spa ” 

Cyrilla understood it all. The clergyman 
who had met them at Spa was Captain 
Maier’s brother — Rupert knew him well, per- 
haps intimately, and his letter would disclose 
all she had endeavoured so carefully to con- 
eeal. 

It did so. The young man, having learned 
from his brother that Rupert was supposed 
to be engaged to his cousin Mademoiselle 
d’Adlerkron, had considered himself bound 
in honour to write him a full account of all 
that had occurred at the G6ronstfcre spring. 
He informed him also of the manner in which 
he had been subsequently employed by Zorn- 
dorff, of his purchases of land and bouses, 
of a projected flight to America with Cyrilla 
von Adlerkron had his wife lived, and every 
other circumstance calculated to throw light 
on a transaction, which, he assured Rupert, 
he never would have been accessory to, had 
not Zorndorff solemnly promised to renew 
die vows so fraudulently made, aa soon as 
.he necessary legal arrangements could be 
sompleted. 

Rupert’s amazement and indignation while 
reading this letter almost deprived him of 
breath, and before he had half finished it, he 
looked at Cyrilla, and, murmuring the words, 
“ Unhappy girl ! ” rushed into the adjoining 
room, where she heard him striding up and 
down, uttering violent exclamations for some 
minutes. The moment she approached the 
door, he threw himself into a chair, and 
placing his arms on the table before him, hid 
his face in his hands. 

She stood beside him for a few moments 
silently ; then, placing her hand on his shoul- 
der, faltered, “You know all now, Rupert?” 

“All — all — more than you do,” he answer- 
ed, without looking up. 

“And you understand my motives for se- 
crecy, and will not increase my misery by 
telling the President, or quarrelling with — 
Count Zorndorff.” 

Rupert’s hands balled themselves convul- 
sively, as she pronounced the name. 

“Is there — no hope — of release for me — 
without — his crime and my folly being made 
public? ” she asked in a whisper. 

Rupert raised himself and without looking 
at her, said slowly, “You must not think of 
it, Cyrilla ; my duty now compels me to urge 
you to fulfil your engagement to Zorndorff — 
t is the only reparation he can make for his 
atrocious conduct.” 

“I will not accept a reparation which, in 
iUelfJ would be a punishment greater than 


even my fault deserves,” she added, quick 

■y- „ 

“ 1 ou will judge differently when I havs 
pointed out to you the true state of the case,* 
continued Rupert, gravely. “Zorndorff, in 
order to secure his own impunity, lias placed 
you in the most painful position that it is 
possible to imagine. He purposely, as I 
firmly believe, neglected all the necessary 
forms, omitted to apply for the requisite per- 
mission, chose a foreign country, for Spa is 
beyond our frontiers, and, in short, did every- 
thing that could take even a shadow of le- 
gality from the act which was to bind him to 
you.” 

“ I did not know that a marriage contract- 
ed in a foreign country was less binding than 
in one’s own,” said Cyrilla, thoughtfully. 
“Melanie is very ignorant of such matters; I 
am if possible more so ; and we did not ven- 
ture to ask any one who could have given u« 
information.” 

“Few women understand such things,” 
said Rupert, bitterly ; “ and therefore they 
cannot too carefully avoid all clandestine 
transactions.” 

Cyrilla received this as a well-deserved re 
proo£ and attempted no defence. 

A long pause ensued — it was broken at last 
by Rupert observing, with very evident em- 
barrassment, “ I don’t think you understand 
me, Cyrilla.” 

“ 0 yes, perfectly,” she said, quietly. “ I 
am quite aware that our marriage was irregu- 
lar, and the usual forms neglected. The 
clergyman himself recommended, and Mela- 
nie always said, that another and more 
public ceremony must take place at a later 
period.” 

“And you — and Zorndorff thought so too ? ” 
asked Rupert, breathlessly, as he snatched 
her hand and drew her towards him. 

“Of course ; but there was no time to dis 
cuss the matter, as we were separated so im- 
mediately afterwards by his father and the 
President, who followed us to Spa, and would 
not even consent to our speaking to each 
other for a few minutes alone. The next 
time we met was the evening of my return 
to Exfort, and then another wife was stand 
ing beside him ! ” 

“ O, Cyrilla,” he cried, springing joyfully 
from his chair; “there is happiness in store 
for us yeti This marriage is beyond all 
doubt illegal ; and I may now tell you with- 
out restraint or hesitation, that the duel with 
Zorndorff, or rather the cause of it, prevented 
Caspar Maier from ever being ordained ; so 
that he had no more right to perform a mar 
riage ceremony than I have, and the whol* 
affair was nothing but a disgraceful, dishon- 
ourable fraud ! ” 

While Rupert, with sparkling eyes and eager 
fluency, continued his explanations, and told 
her how Maier had afterwards studied medi- 
cine, and was now practising as a physician 
at Cincinnati, and how Zorndorff had pur- 
chased large tracts of land there, intending 
that she should cross the Atlantic with him, 
even during his wife’s lifetime, Cyrilla stood 
motionless — speechless — hardly daring to re 
joice ; so greatly shocked was she at tb 


C YRILL.x. 


jent of Zorndorff ’s treachery, so fearful that 
a man so unscrupulous might even yet find 
§ome way to mar her prospects of happiness. 

At length the subject was exhausted, and 
Rupert spoke not lesfl eloquently of himself. 
The* it was that C3’rilla felt her freedom, 
and yielded to the natural joyful buoyancj 
of her disposition without reserve. At his 
request all the particulars of the unfortunate 
transaction that had so embittered three 
years of her life was related ; after which he 
made her dwell long upon her change of feel- 
ings, and the commencement of her affection 
for him ; and charmed with the blushing, 
half-willing, half-reluctant confession, might 
have continued still longer to question eager- 
ly and listen delightfully, had not a glance 
towards the window showed them Zorndorff 
taking a lingering leave of his uncle, while 
his eyes wandered along the facade of the 
house. Rupert returned to the breakfast- 
room, and opening the door desired the por- 
ter to request Count Zorndorff to come to 
him for a few minutes as soon as he was dis- 
engaged. 

“ Rupert dear Rupert you are 

not, I trust, going to say or do anything that 
can provoke a quarrel ? Spare him all 

unnecessary irritation for my sake, for 

yours, say nothing of our plans for the future 
or ” 

“ What ! continued secrecy, Cyrilla ? ” 

“I only meant for the next week or two; 
and if you have no objection, I should like to 
speak to him alone now.” 

“ I have a very decided objection to giv- 
ing him an opportunity of again intimidating 
you.” 

“ Thank goodness he can do so no more,” 
said Cyrilla. 

“Yet a few threats of taking vengeance on 
me might still have some effect,” rejoined 
Rupert, as he bent down his head to hers and 
looked archly into her eyes. 

Cyrilla turned pale at the very idea, and 
at that moment the door opened and Zorn- 
dorff entered. 

He slightly frowned and drew himself 
up, as he approached them, saying : “ There 

is some mistake, perhaps I was told you 

wished to speak with me ” 

“I did I do ’’said Rupert. 

'* Read this letter, Count Zorndorff — it is from 

America — from Maier, your friend and 

accomplice ! ” 

“ Rupert,” cried Cyrilla, greatly alarmed 
at this beginning ; “ 1 will not allow you to 
explain. Count Zorndorff shall hear from 
me alone how ungenerously I think he acted 

in in taking advantage of the ignorance 

and fears of two helpless women.” 

Rupert understood her pacific intentions, 
and felt that she was acting judiciously. An 
iltercation with Zorndorff would at that mo- 
ment have been worse than useless ; for a 
single glance at his agitated face and heav- 
ing chest convinced Rupert, not only that he 
keenly felt the pain of detection, but was for 
the moment overwhelmed by the annihilation 
of all his long-cherished plans. 

Either to conceal his emotion, or to know 
how much ef his guilt was betrayed, he turn- 


191 

ed to the neirest window and attempted U 
read the letter. The first few lines and the 
words “full confession’ sufficed to extinguish 
his remaining hopes. He stamped violently 
two or three times with irrepressible rage, 
clutched the letter in his quivering hands, 
and Ihen striking it against his forehead, held 
it there to hide the workings of features con- 
vulsed by the contending feelings of shame 
and disappointment ; but his audibly short- 
drawn breath and heaving chest betrayed all 
the emotion he so vainly endeavoured to con- 
ceal ; and even when at length he advanced to- 
wards Cyrilla, and attempted to speak, his 
tongue seemed to cleave to his lips, and he 
could at first only gasp out some scarcely ar- 
ticulate sounds. 

Surprised and somewhat softened by this 
unexpected ebullition of feeling on the part 
of a man so little in the habit of being de- 
monstrative, Rupert’s features relaxed, and 
he walked quickly into the next room, and 
leaned out of a distant window, to avoid 
hearing the words of passionate pleading 
that afterwards flowed so unrestrainedly. 
Cyrilla listened passively to them and the 
succeeding attempts at exculpation ; she did 
not even raise her eyes to those so anxiously 
bent on hers ; but she evidently believed 
Zorndorff ’s assertion that he had gone to 
Salzburg when she was dangerously ill, in 
order to explain all and make her free, when, 
having heard that she was recovering, the 
sacrifice had been too great for him. He also 
assured her that in the last terrible interview 
she had had with his wife, he was so shocked 
at Margaret’s despair, that he was again on 
the point of confession when she had become 
insensible, and he continued, “had she lived 
I should also have had at least the merit of 
self-condemnation, and freely offered repara- 
tion — for the words she had overheard that 
fatal night admitted of no further reserve 
with her, nor did I attempt any. She loved 
me, Cyrilla, and forgave not only all the 
wrong I had done her, but also — all I had 
meditated.” 

Zorndorff paused before he added, in a 
constrained voice : “ From you I dare not 
expect such clemency, and do not even think 
of asking forgiveness ” 

“Take it, then, unasked,” said Cyrilla, 
yielding instantly to the impulse of a gene- 
rous heart overflowing with happiness. “ 1 
am now,” she added, unconsciously glan- 
cing towards the open door of the other 
room, “much too happy to harbour anyer — * 
even against you. Let the past be forgot- 
ten, and our acquaintance begin again.” 

There is perhaps no moment in which a 
human being is seen to such advantage aa 
when in the act of pardoning. As Cyrilla 
turned round and extended her hand, Zorn- 
dorff thought hep perfectly divine. 

But, alas 1 he was human ; and a chaos of 
deep regrets and wild resolves passed quickly 
through his mind. He took her offered hand, 
and exclaimed, vehemently : “ O, Cyrilla, 

had we been again united, the sole occupa- 
tion of my life would have been an unceas- 
ing endeavour to make you forget ” 

“YeB yee; I am quite convinced o I 


194 


CYRILLA. 


that,” she answered hastily; “but you must 
allow me to repeat all you have said to Ru- 
pert ; ” and, anxious to avoid farther discus- 
sion, she joined him, excused and defended 
Zorndorff with all the eagerness of fear ; and, 
finally, having added some earnest entrea- 
ties, succeeded in persuading him to return 
to the breakfast-room to oner Zorndorff his 
hand and a total oblivion of the past. 

Less solicitous of a reconciliation with Ru- 
pert than Cyrilla had supposed, Zorndorff 
would scarcely have awaited the result of 
their conference had not his uncle entered 
the room to remind him of some papers and 
accounts which it was necessary to have in 
order on or before the 21st of the month; but 
they had not half discussed the revenues of 
the*crown-lands, Sennheim and Street, when 
the cousins entered the room. Any reference 
to what had occurred, before the President, 
was out of the question. Rupert, however, 
extended his hand when Zorndorff was about 
to leave ; Cyrilla did the same, and the 
President, equally surprised and pleased at 
what he considered a demonstration of re- 
newed friendship on her part, without hesi- 
tation requested his nephew to return in the 
evening, and let him know the result of his 
conference with the Kammer-revisor Kliug- 
hardt. 

Cyrilla did not hear his answer: before 
they had crossed the hall, she was in her 
sister’s room yielding without restraint to 
the contending emotions she had so success- 
fully controlled during the last hour. 



CHAPTER L. 

By some process of reasoning which it is not 
necessary to follow, Zorndorff, in the course 
of a few hours, had fully persuaded himself 
that the “ head and front of his offending ” 
had been against his unhappy wife, and if 
she had thought proper to forgive him, no 
one else had a right to call him to account — 
that with regard to Cyrilla, lie had insisted, 
perhaps, a little too rigorously on the fulfil- 
ment of vows, . somewhat fraudulently ob- 
tained undoubtedly, but excusable on the 
part of a man so tried and tempted as he 
had been — and that, all things considered, 
he had more used than abused the power her 
timidity and reliance on his truth had given 
him. This view of the case enabled him to 
return to Freilands, meet his aunt without 
embarrassment, and inform her before they 
were long together of his opinion on the sub- 
ject; adding, that his only subject of regret 
was the failure of a plan which would have 
enabled him to dedicate the remainder of his 
life to Cyrilla, and make amends for the im- 
aginary wrongs which had so unfortunately 
estranged her from him ! Then he repeated 
what he had said to Cyrilla, in extenuation 
of his offence, with even increased pathos; 
for his hearer, released from all apprehen- 
sions, now listened to him with her former 
interest and sympathy. In her idea the ro- 
mantic fraud was already partially expiated 
when, instead of, as she had feared, threaten- 


ing to revenge himself on his successful rival, 
he declared he should penitently drag on the 
remainder of his wretched existence, a hope 
less, aimless, blasted man ! 

Rupert and Cyrilla had soon after his 
arrival retired to the end room, taking it for 
granted that their presence must still em- 
barrass if not annoy him. Rupert’s gaiety 
and merry laugh were often stopped by 
Cyrilla, who, pointing anxiously to the door- 
way, entreated him to avoid irritating the 
vindictive man who w as theu within hear- 
ing. It was in vain he protested against 
further restraint; with tearful eyes she as- 
sured him her fears were still so unconquer- 
able, that nothing would give her greater 
pleasure than to see him leave for Windhorst 
the very next day. 

He thanked her with mock gravity for her 
kind 'wish to get rid of him ; but assured her 
there was not the slightest chance of hi? 
leaving Exfort or its neighbourhood until she 
chose to go to Windhorst with him — the 
sooner, however, arrangements could be 
made for that purpose the better. 

“You wdlfully misunderstand me,” said 
Cyrilla, “or can you really not believe, that 
though X have now no fears on my own ac- 
count, on yours they are increased a hun- 
dredfold?” 

“I do believe you,” answered Rupert, 
smiling; “but assure you they are quite un- 
founded.” 

“ Will you at least promise never to refer 
to wdiat occurred this morning in Count 
ZorndorfFs presence ? ” 

“Not the least danger of my doing so,” 
said Rupert ; “ you are sufficiently implicated 
to silence me for ever. I don’t even like to 
think of it.” 

“ And you will also avoid every thing else 
that could lead to an altercation or quarrel 
with him ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly ; but now, dearest, let us 
talk of something else.” * 

Cyrilla was silenced, but not satisfied ; he? 
terror of Zorndorff was still so great, that on 
hearing him soon after approach the Presi- 
dent, she started up, intending to place her 
self as far away from her cousin as the limits 
of the room would permit. 

“Stay, Cyrilla,” cried Rupert, catching her 
hand ; “I cannot permit this to continue any 
longer; there is no mystery, no promise now, 
and you are henceforward at liberty to sit 
beside and talk to me whenever you please.” 

She sat down, but in doing so removed 
her chair to a considerable distance. 

Rupert rolled his in the same direction, 
and was laughing unrestrainedly at her face 
of alarm, when Melanie, followed by the 
President and Zorndorff, entered the room. 

“ Lindesmar has evidently not found favour 
in your eyes,” said the latter to his uncle, in 
continuation of their conversation ; “ he seems 
in a fair way to take a permanent placf 
among the unhappy herd of expectant can- 
didates for office 1 ” 

“Has he again been disappointed in hi? 
hopes of employment? ’’.asked Rupert. 

“Yes; and is chafing immensely at the 
slight perception which people high in static?? 


C Y R I L L A . 


195 


have of his talents ! * replied ZorndorfF, sar- 
castically. 

V Poor fellow ” sa. d Rupert ; “ he perhaps 
imagines your uncle prejudiced against him, 
which I am sure is not the case, as he is said 
to have both talent and application. I fear, 
however,” he added, turning to the Presi- 
dent, who had merely prolonged his walk into 
the room, and was again leaving it, “ I fear 
.t may ha long before he will get a situation, 

you do not use your interest for him. A 
word from you to the minister would set all 
V) rights.” 

“We shall see what can be done for him a 
lew months hence,” said the President. 

“ Cyrilla,” whispered Rupert smiling, “you 
are not perhaps aware that one of Lindes- 
mar’s chief reasons for desiring immediate 
employment is, that he may be able to make 
you an offer of his heart and hand.” 

“ 0, Rupert, can you never be serious ! ” 

“ Virginie, told me so, I assure you, and 
more than hinted that her brother had very 
little doubt of your acceptance. For my 
own part, I have not been able to discover 
any real foundation for his hopes, though you 
may remember I made a sort of attempt at 
jealousy some weeks ago.” 

There was something in the expression of 
ZorndorfF’s countenance, as he silently con- 
templated the cousins, that made Melanie 
uneasy, and she endeavoured to attract him 
to an open window by drawing aside the 
muslin curtains and making some trivial ob- 
servation about the moon. He did not move ; 
but two large moths, long perhaps attracted 
by the light in the room, flew past her, and 
after having noiselessly flapped along the 
ceiling for a few moments, descended simul- 
taneously and beat their wings against the 
globe of one of the lamps in wild endeavours 
to reach the flame within. 

“ O, save them, save them ! ” cried Melanie, 
covering her face with her hand; “if they 
fly upon or over the cylinder they will be 
burned to death ! ” 

Rupert started up and tried to chase them 
from their doom ; but just as he got them 
safely outside the window, and while Cyrilla 
was preparing to close the curtain upon them, 
with a pertinacity not alone peculiar to 
moths, they once more rushed into danger, 
and again eagerly fluttered round the fasci- 
nating ball of light. 

“Edouard, help to save them,” cried Mela- 
nie, turning eagerly to ZorndorfF, who stood 
calmly looking on. 

He approached the table ; and as one 
alighted for a moment on Cyrilla’s handker- 
chief, he placed his hand over it, drew it to 
the edge of the table, and then having closed 
his fingers, walked to the window. 

The hand was opened — the handkerchief 
shaken, but the poor insect, instead of spread- 
ing its wings to seek safety in flight, fell 
crushed and dead to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” said Cyrilla, placing it for a 
moment in the palm of her hand, “ it is quite, 
quite dead ; its death at least was quick, and 
it could not have suffered as if it had been 
burnt.” 


“O ! ” cried Melanie in a tremulous voice, 
“the other — the other has burnt its wings, 
and is struggling on the table — take it away, 
I cannot look at it 1 ” 

ZorndorfF raised the paper on which the 
wounded insect lay, and placed it upon the 
chimney-piece against which he leaned, ga- 
zing down abstractedly. 

Cyrilla closed the curtain, sat down, and 
drew her work towards her. Melanie began 
to write quickly with her ever ready pencil ; 
and after a pause of a minute or two, Rupert, 
who had been leaning on the back of Cyrilla’s 
chair, observed : 

“ It is incomprehensible to me how Zorn- 
dorfF can find anything interesting or agree- 
able in watching the agony of that moth.” 

“If it cannot fly again,” said Cyrilla, look 
ing up, “it would perhaps be humane to kill 
it.” 

“ Life is sweet,” observed ZorndorfF, with 
out moving. 

“ Not when deprived of all that makes it 
desirable,” said Rupert ; “ the fate of the 
other moth was happier.” 

“Do you think so ? ” asked ZorndorfF, look- 
ing up for a moment. 

“Undoubtedly. A quick death is prefer- 
able to a lingering and painful one.” 

“ And yet,” said ZorndorfF, “if that insect 
could speak, it would most probably say, 

‘ Let me live ; anything is better than death 
and annihilation ! ’ ” 

“Pshaw! ” cried Rupert, impatiently, “ we 
are not going to talk fables just now. 1 
agree with Cyrilla in thinking it would be 
humane to put an end to the existence of an 
insect which never can fly, and scarcely even 
walk again.” 

“Let it live,” said ZorndorfF; and going to 
a distant window, he stretched out his arm 
and dropped it among the leaves of all Amer- 
ican creeper which was trained against that 
side of the house. t 

Melanie ceased writing, and resting her 
front teeth on the top of her pencil-case, ob- 
served mysteriously : “ Don’t you see, he con- 
sidered those moths persons ? ” 

“ Persons ! ” repeated Rupert incredulously. 

“ Yes ; lie supposed them men, or he would 
never have said all that about letting live 
and annihilation.” 

“ Nonsense,” cried Rupert, laughing ; 
“ when he spoke of annihilation he could 
only, I am sure, have thought of thq insect.” 

“Yet the idea struck me directly,” said 
Melanie; “and in these lines which I have 
written you will find that ” 

“0, as a poetical fancy I have no sort of 
objection to it,” replied Rupert; “and per- 
haps he may also have indulged in some idea 
of the kind, though he looks thoughtful 
enough for one to suppose him omen-seeking 
as usual.” 

“You attach no importance to omens?” 
said Cyrilla, half inquiringly. 

“ I never think about them, and scarcely 
know anything more tiresome or absurd than 
viewing trifling occurrences with the eyes of 
an augur. Melanie, your lines are pretty, 
| though the conceit is too melancholy to sui* 


CYRILLA, 


m 


me. Is it a fact that one moth chased the 
other to its doom, and in doing so, burnt its 
own wings ? ” 

44 I imagined it at least,” answered Melanie, 
smiling, “ and must have it so in order to de- 
duct a moral.” 

While Rupert and Cyrilla bent their heads 
over the little book, Zorndorff turned round, 
looked steadfastly and gloomily at them, and 
then with an unusual degree of formality 
took leave, passing even his uncle in one of 
the other rooms with a scarcely audible 
“ Good-night.” 

His absence was a most evident relief to 
Cyrilla — she openly expressed her satisfaction 
at it, and also her surprise at his coming to 
Freilands after the occurrences of the morn- 
ing. When informed by Melanie of his pres- 
ent view of his conduct, she was only re- 
strained from a burst of indignation by the 
fear of provoking Rupert to anger, who, as it 
was, coloured violently, and observed : that 
Zorndorff had this time as usual managed to 
compel people to connive at his baseness, but 
he would some time or other become inex- 
tricably entangled in one of his complicated 
schemes, and be exposed to the infamy he 
deserved. 

As the cousins afterwards sat together on 
the moonlit balcony, Rupert forming plans of 
future happiness, to which Cyrilla listened 
without offering even an amendment, they 
neither thought of nor saw the solitary man 
who, in the deep shade of the nearest trees, 
gazed at them with an expression of such in- 
tense jealousy and rage, that his face, in all 
its perfect symmetry, might have been mis- 
taken for that of a demon. 

He was not seen that evening, or any of 
the following, when the sound of music and 
laughter seemed to excite him to frenzy — 
nor tl*at last night when the Bellegardes 
were accompanied home, and the bright 
moonlight afterwards tempted to the linger- 
ing stroll in the lime-tree walk ; but he, from 
his place of concealment, saw the parting 
afterwards — heard the good-night uttered in 
tones so soft and reluctant, that Melanie, 
who had been walking on before in dignified 
abstraction, turned round, and observed with 
a mixture of surprise and pleasure, “Why, 
Rupert, I do believe, after all, you can be as 
much in love, and as as ” 

“As foolishly fond as even you* could de- 
sire,” he said, laughing. “Not the smallest 
doubt of it, Melanie. I have only been wait- 
ing for an opportunity of exhibiting my 
talents in that way for "the last three years. 
I should not even mind walking up and 
down here in the moonlight now, and saying 
4 Good-night until it were to-morrow.’ ” 

The sisters entered the house. Rupert 
looked after them until the door was closed, 
and then turned back into the avenue, and 
sauntered slowly in the direction of the lake. 
Before he was quite out of sight, the watcher 
started forward, shook his clenched hand at 
him in furious menace, and then darted off 
in the contrary direction. 


CHAPTER LI. 

Cyrilla’s brief span of tranqu.l happinese 
was over. The removal to Exfoit took placs 
the next day, and Zorndorff once more began 
to frequent his uncle’s house in the regular 
matter-of-course manner that he had done 
before his marriage. He never referred to 
that calamitous opisode in his life, seemed to 
wish it forgotten, and, by returning to all 
his old habits, endeavoured continually, and 
often painfully, to remind Cyrilla of former 
times. Fortunately for her he also attended 
with unremitting attention to the business 
incumbent on him as Kammer-assessor, so 
that she knew pretty accurately the hours 
when he might be expected, and was conse 
quently tolerably successful in her efforts to 
prevent Rupert from too often meeting him. 
Still the evening almost invariably brought 
them together; and then, perhaps observing 
the feverish anxiet}’ with which she watched 
their movements and listened to their words, 
they generally met graciously and spoke to 
each other on some indifferent subject for a 
short time. The Bellegardes often, and even 
at a late hour, joined them, but Count Lindes- 
mar had altogether ceased' to frequent the 
house, in consequence of some irritability 
about his non-appointment to the desired 
situation, and an absurd idea that he had on 
that account become the subject of ridicule. 
The President having heard that some well 
meant expressions had been misrepresented 
to him in a manner to wound his very sus- 
ceptible feelings, requested Rupert, one even- 
ing when he had outstaid all the other 
guests, to explain to Lindesmar that nothing 
had been further from the intention of any 
member of their family than to offend or 
annoy him. 

44 1 think, Falkenstein, it would be bette 
if you told him so yourself,” said Rupert. “ I 
am going to-morrow to Freilands for a couple 
of days, and expect some friends there, but, 
as they are all military, I do not know 
whether or not Lindesmar ma}’’ be disposed 
to join us.” 

“Shall I not sec you for two whole days ? ” 
asked Cyrilla, half playfully half reproach 
fully. 

“I fear not,” he answered, thoughtfully , 

“and a I don’t think I can well 

ask you and Melanie to come to me on this 

occasion How the time has flown 

this evening! — it is already almost eleven 
o’clock! ” 

He lingered as usual until the President 
had .eft them, and then let Melanie stand 
waiting a perfect picture of patience while 
he whispered what she called 44 his intermin- 
able last words and good-nights ; ” but even 
when they were ended, and he had reached 
the door, he suddenly stopped and looked 
back so wistfully, 60 very wistfully, that 
Cyrilla smiled ana held out her hard. In a 
moment he was again beside her — whil* 
Melanie, with a demure smile and slight 
ihrug of the shoulders, slowly walked through 


CYRILL A. 


197 


the intervening apartments to her dressing- 
room. Before entering it she waited to 
bestow on her sister’s cheek the customary 
kiss, but, as she bent down, she perceived 
large tears tremoling in Cyrilla’s upturned 
eyes. 

“ So, then,” she observed archly, “ there 
was a little quarrel to make up ? How 
eoiild it be otherwise after all the nonsense 
Adrienne talked about her brother this 
evening? You see, dear, even Rupert can 
be jealous; but you know lovers’ quarrels 
are said to be a renewal of love ! ” 

“There was no quarrel,” answered Cyril- 
la; “not a shadow of jealousy has ever 
crossed his mind. But his unwillingness to 
leave us to-night makes me uneasy; and .... 

and his serious fervency of manner just 

now !....” 

“ My dear child,' you know if it were not 
consideration for Wilhelm’s peculiarities about 
regular hours, he would never think of 
going home before midnight; and as to his 
fervency of manner, you surely have not 
observed it for the first time to-night? ” 

“ Then you did not think him unusually 
grave and quiet during the evening?” 

“Not at all, excepting, perhaps, when 
Adrienne was speaking of her brother — and 
it seems even that was imagination on my 
part.” 

“ But is it not rather singular that Count 
Zorndorfl' has not been here all day' — not 
even to dinner ? ” asked CyTilla. 

“ Important business alone prevented him 
from coming,” answered Melanie. 

“I wish I were sure of that — or rather I 
wish I kqew what business could have occu- 
pied him the whole day.” 

“Fortunately,” said Melanie, “I can tell 
you. He knew that we expected some 
people to dinner, and therefore thought it 
necessary to write an excuse, which Wil- 
helm sent to me when I was at breakfast : 
here it is : ” — 

“In order To prepare the report of the 
Sennheim and Streck revenues for the Kam- 
mer-revisor Klinghardt, I shall be obliged to 
remain at home all day 7 . Excuse me to my 
aunt ; and believe me, 

“Yours, <fcc., 

“ Zornporff .” 

Good-night,” said Cy 7 rilla, smiling; “I 
see I have been yielding most foolislily to 
false presentiments of evil. What a torment 
the imagination can become when not kept 
under proper control ! ” 

“But presentiments can not be controlled,” 
said Melanie, following her into her room, 
which adjoined the boudoir, and like it 
looked into the quiet courtyard. Cyrilla’s 
maid, who was sitting, perhaps sleeping, 
near the toilet, started up to light the can- 
dles; but as the room was large, they did 
not prevent the pale streaks of light cast by 
the waning moon from being perfectly evi- 
dent, as they entered through tl/ 3 openings 
in the carelessly closed curtains. One win- 
dow was T partifiAly 7 open, and the sound 


of the gushing fountain beneath tempted 
them towards it. 

“Presentiments cannot be controlled,” re- 
peated Melanie. “Do you remember the 
Franciscan monk in Salzburg, who, it is said, 
alway's knows long before he is summoned 
to attend the sick or dying ? Sometimes he 
hears the sound of his house-bell long before 
it is touched ; at others the figure of the 
expiring person, even when a perfect stran- 
ger, is seen distinctly by him ! ” 

“ Dear Melanie, do not talk of such things 
just now, for I have grown so weak and 
nervousilately that y r ou might deprive me of 
my night’s rest.” 

“I believe you are right,” said Melanie, 
looking round her uneasily'. “Ursula must 
r carefully 7 close the window and curtains to 
shut out the moonlight.” 

“No, Cyrilla chose to see the moonlight, 
and dismissed Ursula a few minutes after her 
sister left her. She had watched with inte- 
rest the increase^ of that moon from the bal- 
cony at Freilands with Rupert. Remember- 
ed having seen it pass before her a light 
bright crescent on the evening of the day of 
the memorable explanation — and all that 
Rupert had then said^and the succeeding 
evenings, recurred distinctly to her memory 7 
— and then the last moonlight walk to the 
lake, when he • had whispered, “The next 
full moon we shall see from the towers of 
Windhorst, Cyrilla ! ” But one week had 
since elapsed, yet what restraint, anxiety 
and fear had been crowded into the short 
period! She had seen with dismay that 
Zorndorff made no effort to conquer or con- 
ceal his feelings towards her ; in fact rather 
sought than avoided opportunities of show- 
ing them. An ungarded allusion, made by 
Melanie the day after their return home, tc 
Cyrilla’s future plans, had so irritated him 
that he had dashed the book he had been 
reading on the table with frantic violence, 
and left the room in undisguised rage. It is 
true, he had afterwards apologized, but the 
excuses W'ere worse than the offence; and 
from that time Cy'rilla’s half-restored peace 
of mind was gone, and her chief occupation 
latterly had been noticing the words and 
watching the countenances of the two men 
whose rivalry she feared might yet bring sor- 
row on them all. She now recalled the 
events of the evening with minute care, and 
could find no new cause for uneasiness. Me- 
lanie was right ; he had been just the same 
as usual — but — but why had he turned round 
at the door and looked back so earnestly t 
And why had he gazed afterwards so long 
and silently' into her very eyes ? That, at 
least, was unlike his usual manner — quite. — 
And why had she not asked him the cause? 
She could not go to Freilands the next day 

Of course not It was perhaps 

one of the two days’ shooting promised that 
tiresome Captain Maier, and the house would 
be full of officers. Should she write? It 
would be useless, he might answer guarded 
ly, and nothing but an interview could sa- 
tisfy her. What would she not give to se« 
him but for one minute ! 


198 


CTRILL A. 


She buried her face in her hands, and re- 
mained in deep thought until she heard the 
door of her room, by which Melanie had left 
it, open suddenly, and felt a rush of cold air 
enter, which, sweeping past her to the open 
window, seemed to shake the heavy curtains 
that impeded its egress. She started up, ex- 
claiming, “What is that? Who is there?” 

But no one answered ; and it occurred to 
her that a window must be open in one of 
the drawing-rooms to cause the current of air 
and noise that had so startled lierT “ If we 
are going to have a thunder-storm,” she 
thought, ts I had better close it and the doors 
too.” As she took up a candle for the pur- 
pose, and glanced along the room, she saw, 
or thought she saw, her cousin Rupert sitting! 
at the window nearest the door, his face 
partially averted, and the moonbeams play- 
ing fitfully on the embroidery of his uni- 
form. She murmured his name before the 
immense improbability of his entering her 
room in such a way, and (ft such an hour, 
entered her mindq but as lie remained quite 
motionless, she deposited her candle on the 
table, advanced a few steps, and stood trem- 
bling violently, while she uttered in a scarce- 
ly audible voice, and breathing* with great 

difficult}", “ Rupert dear Rupert 

do not frighten me so horribly you 

know I am not courageous I never was 

.... and am now less so than ever ! ” 

Her heart beat violently as she paused for 
the answer she could scarcely be said to ex- 
pect — the figure moved not — and she cover- 
ed her eyes with her hands, and asked her- 
self — had she been dreaming ? — if she were 
dreaming? SlTe looked again more steadily 
than before, and thought the colours fainter 
— the outline less distinct. Convinced now 
that it was but a creation of her imagination, 
she walked slowly, but with tolerable firm- 
ness, towards the window, and, as she did 
so, perceived that it gradually became per- 
fectly transparent, so that the form of the 
chair could be seen through it, and at last 
disappeared altogether. 

Then Cyrilla drew back from the window 
and gazed around her with an apprehension 
that no further effort of reason could over- 
come ; but when another gust of wind closed 
the door with a loud crash, her consterna- 
tion was complete, and she rang the bell 
with a violence so unusual that her maid al- 
most immediately rushed into the room with 
a mixture of amazement and terror. Cyril- 
la’s face was not calculated to remove either. 
Pale as death, and still visibly trembling, 
there was something ghastly in tlie^forced 
smile with which she desired her to “shut 
that window — and tell her sister she wished 
to speak to her directly.” 

“Even if her Excellency should have left 
her dressing-room ? ” asked Ursula. 

“Yes. Bay I am very sorry to disturb 
her, but I must see her, and as soon as possi- 
ble.” 

By the time Melanie entered the room, Cy- 
rilla was perfectly composed. She related 
calmly and succinctly what had occurred, 
ending by assuring her terrified sister that 
•he was perfectly convinced the figure she 


had seen -was a mere chimera, the delusion 
of an overwrought fancy, reduced to weak- 
ness by the state of intolerable excitement in 
which she had passed the last three months 
She was ashamed of herself for attaching (he 
slightest importance to such a thing — but. 

she would very much like to see Rr 

pert, if it were possible. 

“ I)o you think anything lias happened t» 
him on the way home — or that he is ill?” 
asked Melanie. 

“No; but I wish to speak to and sec him 
before he goes to Freilands to-morrow. Dear 
Melanie, could you not for once make a great 
exertion, and go out to-morrow morning a 


little before five o’clock? he will be so 

surprised and pleased and it will bo 


such a relief to my mind to see km, if only 
for a lew minutes.” 

Melanie did not like making exertions or 
surprising people, at five o'clock in the morn- 
ing.* She proposed sending at once to make 
inquiries, or, better still, Cyrilla should write 
a few lines to explain so unusual a proceed- 
ing. 

“ 1 cannot attempt an explanation,’ said 
Cyrilla; “but I can wish him good-night, and 
promise to let him laugh at me as much as he 
pleases when we next meet, for my foohsL 
anxiety about him.” 

The note was despatched, and in a very 
short time an answer returned. 

“ He must have been still up,” observed 
Melanie. 

“Yes, your Excellency, Jlaron Adlerkron 
was in his study writing.” 

“Melanie,” whispered Cyrilla, half smiling, 
“lie will not now, or at any future period 

laugh at us for our kind solicitude 

about him.” 

Melanie extended her hand for the note. 
Cyrilla hesitated — then gave it to her. 

“ Us" said Melanie, archly. “There is 
not a word about me in it ; but, you see, ‘he 
too was occupied with thoughts — anxious 
thoughts of you.’ Now, I am strongly in- 
clined to think that what you have seen this 
night must be ” 

“It was nothing but an embodying of my 
thoughts,” said Cyrilla, interrupting her; 
“ but I consider it so decided a proof of 
weakness — if not disease of both mind and 
body — that should anything of the kind hap- 
pen again, I shall consider it necessary to 
consult a physician.” 

“I wish 1 could find out if he were dress- 
ed as you saw him,” said Melanie. 

“Don’t ask any questions,” said Cyrilla, 
beseechingly. “You have already made 
Ursula look quite inquisitive; and now, good- 
night again ; forgive my having disturbed 
you, and forget all I have said.” 

“ I can never forget it,” answered Melanie, 
glancing suspiciously towards the window 
“ Ursula,” she added, stopping suddenly 
“take that chair away, and draw the cu? 
tains more carefully in future.” 


C TRILL A. 


ns 


CHAPTER LII. 

“That is Rupert, I am sure,” said Cyrilla, 
when, on the third day after the events re- 
lated, she heard the sound of horses’ feet 
prancing along the pavement in the immedi- 
ate vicinity of their house. “Just look out 
of the window for a moment, Melanie, for I 
have already been on the balcony so often 
this morning, that I fear the people at the 
other side of the square may have observed 
me.” 

“It is only M. de Klemmhein,” answered 
Melanie, stepping out under the awning, and 
looking towards him as lie drew up his horse 
near the equestrian statue that was in the 
middle of the well-paved open space beneath. 
“ He seems to be watching a crowd of people 
passing in a sort of procession into the next 
street.” 

“Ask him,” said Cyrilla, approaching light- 
ly — “ask him if Rupert returned from Frei- 
lands this morning.” 

Melanie made a sign to him to approach. 
He did not see it, for his eyes were still fixed 
on the crowd. He spoke to some stragglers 
from it, and then, turning his horse suddenly, 
was about to ride off in a contrary direction, 
when he perceived her on the balcony. 

“I fear, M. de Klemmhein,” she said, ob- 
serving that he looked extremely pale, and 
continued to glance furtively over his shoul- 
der — “I fear some accident has happened to 
one of your men.” 

“Kot one of those under Rupert’s com- 
mand, I hope,” said Cyrilla, coming forward ; 
“ I know T he is personally attached to them 
all.” 

“Allow me to recommend you not to re- 
main where you are,” said Klemmhein, hur- 
riedly ; “ a dreadful accident has occurred,. 

and it might shock you to see the 

the ” 

“Is he wounded?” asked Melanie, compas- 
sion at ely. 

“They say so excuse me I must 

return to the barracks directly.” He raised 
his hand to his temple, and gave the spurs to 
his horse at the same moment; and as soon 
as the clattering of hoofs was lost in the dis- 
tance, the measured tread of human feet be- 
came audible. An unusual silence and so- 
lemnity seemed to pervade the moving multi- 
tude, and the figure that lay covered with a 
military cloak on a sort of bier had all the 
rigidity of death. Although not passing op- 
posite the government-house, there were few 
individuals in the crowd who did not look 
towards it — Melauie imagined towards them 
— and endeavoured to draw Cyrilla back into 
the room ; but she either couid not or would 
not move — an indefinite feeling of terror had 
taken possession of her mind, when she per- 
ceived that an officer’s cap, gloves, and a pis- 
tol, were placed conspicuously at the feet of 
the unusually long figure. One white, stiff, 
hand hung downwards, and the motion of the 
bearers had removed the cloak sufficiently 
from the head to Have it and a part of a high 


fair forebead visible, ^.s Cyrilla’s eyes rest- 
ed on the light-brown, curling hair, a sensa- 
tion of sickness and giddiness almos over- 
powered her, and with difficulty j/he l eached 
her sister, who, but just inside the window, 
was standing with clasped hands, bending 
forward, and straining her eyes after the re- 
treating procession. 

Cyrilla laid her hand on Melanie’s arm for 
support, while she whispered, “Did you see 

did you think could it could 

it be ” 

“Ko — no — no — no /” cried Melanie, vehe- 


mently ; “ it cannot be Rupert no, dear- 
est it is impossible.” 

“ The figure the hair ” panted 

Cyrilla. 


“Dear child, there — there are other men 

here as tall and as fair-haired as he is 

and we could not even see distinctly.” 

“Let us inquire,” cried Cyrilla, quickly, 
hope giving her again both strength and en- 
ergy- 

“ Do not ring, Cyrilla the servants 

cannot know more than we do. We must 
ask — we must speak to Wilhelm.” 

They ran through the intervening rooms; 
but at the doors of communication, so great 
was the force of habit, that Melanie paused. 
Cyrilla threw them both open without hesi- 
tation, and entered. The President was not 
there. She rang the bell, and a servant in- 
stantly appeared. 

In reply to Melanie’s inquiries, he an- 
swered that “His Excellency had received 
an express from the Crown Office about two 
hours before, but he believed he had already 
returned, and was in his office below stairs.” 

“ Oh, go to him, go to him,” cried Cyrilla, 
beseechingly; and for the first time in her 
life Melanie descended the private staircase, 
and entered her husband’s office. 

The few minutes which succeeded were 
perhaps the most torturing of Cyrilla’s life. 
Doubt, hope, fear, and despair chased each 
other in wild confusion through her brain, 
as, with uneven steps, she walked backwards 
and forwards, sometimes clasping her hands 
together, at others pressing them to her fore- 
head in fruitless efforts to calm her emotion. 

Melanie’s speechless horror, and the violent 
burst of tears to which she yielded on her 
return, confirmed Cyrilla’s worst fears. It 
was an attempt to deceive herself when she 
asked, “Was it Rupert?” 

Melanie’s sebs were the only answer. 

“ And he is wounded dangerously 

wounded ....... but there is hope hope 

of his recovery Oh, Melanie, for mer- 
cy’s sake say that at least ” 

But 'Melanie turned away her head, and 
hid her face. 

“Speak ! ” gasped Cyrilla, shaking her sis- 
ter’s arm. “Tell me what I must hear. De- 
lay is cruelty after 5?hat I have seen Is 

he dead ? ” 

“Shot through the heart,” answered Mela- 
nie, with the forced calmness of a person ter- 
rified by the violence of another. 

“ God help me ! ” cried Cyrilla, with a half 
suppressed scream of agony, as she threw 
herself on her km t-s, and attempted to mur- 


too 


C Y R I L L A . 


rnur some inarticulate words of prayer. A 
momentary convulsion seemed to shake her 
frame, and then she sank on the floor com- 
pletely senseless. 

Melanie’# efforts to restore consciousness 
were unavailing. The physician, who had 
been immediately summoned, was more suc- 
cessful, but what availed it ? The return of 
consciousness was ever succeeded by confu- 
sion of ideas, painful efforts of memory, ex- 
haustion, then a sudden recollection of all 
that had occurred, a vivid picture of the 
frightful, silent procession in the street, a 
stifled cry, a few moans, and renewed insen- 
sibility. 

The President’s grief was deep, and accom- 
panied by a gloomy thoughtfulness that 
alarmed Melanie as soon as she had time to 
observe it. He shut himself into his room 
for several hours, then asked for his nephew; 
and having heard that he was not expected 
to dinner, he again closed the door, and re- 
mained there until dark. Informed before 
leaving Freilands of Cyrilla’s engagement to 
her cousin, while perfectly approving of it, 
he had felt some uneasiness as to the effect 
the intelligence might have on his nephew; 
and well prepared as Zorndorffhad reason to 
be, he had not effectually concealed either 
his jealousy or hatred of his successful rival 
from his uncle. Under such circumstances, 
his absenting himself for three days, and that 
on the second of those Rupert had been seen 
for the last time, at an early hour in the 
morning, could not fail to make a deep im- 
pression on the President ; and the only hope 
that combated the suspicions continually ris- 
ing in his mind, was the certainty that his 
nephew knew the severity of the laws against 
duelling, and would most probably already 
have sought safety by flight from the penalty 
incurred, had he been implicated in the mys- 
terious affair. 

Great was therefore the satisfaction of the 
Presiden|*when, the next day, at the accus- 
tomed hour, Zorndorff entered the drawing- 
room, and, after a few cold, commonplace 
words of condolence with him, inquired for 
his aunt and her sister with a degree of sym- 
pathy that could not have been altogether 
feigned. 

“They say Cyrilla is better,” the President 
answered ; “but I am inclined to think that 
the wish to hear all the particulars of this 
unhappy event induces her to make exertions 
to appear so. Melanie, of course, has never 
left her for a moment since yesterday morn- 
ing, nor do I expect to see her now.” 

The uncle and nephew dined tete-a-tete 
that day, and while the servants were pres- 
ent, not one word was uttered by either. As 
soon as they were alone, the President rose, 
and pacing the room, with his hands clasped 
behind him, in a manner that had become 
habitual, he muttered, “ I never can — I never 
will believe such a thing possible.” Then 
stopping suddenly before Zorndorff, he said, 
abruptly, “You don’t think that Rupert shot 
himself, do you ? ” 

“ I have been told,” answered Zorndorff, 
gravely, “that the surgeons have unanimous- 
ly decided that he must h done so.” 


“They are fools,” cried the President, con 
tinning his walk, “ worse than fools, for they 
have branded with infamy the memory of a 
man remarkable for his excellence and the 
strict fulfilment of every Christian duty’.” 

Zorndorff sipped his coffee in silence. 

“ They’ allowed themselves to be absurdly 
influenced in their opinion by the cireum- 
stance of the fingers of the right hand being 
blackened, as if that could not have been 
done by another to remove suspicion. Row 
mark me, Edouard,” he continued, coming 
close to his nephew, and regarding him scru- 
tinizingly, “ it will yet be proved that Rupert 
has been forced into a duel, and shot by some 
one who bad private reasons for wishing him 
out of the way T .” 

“ I do not know any’ one in Exfort who 
could have entertained such desires more 
reasonably than myself,” answered Zorn- 
dorff, calmly, “ yet I can give you the 
positive assurance that my hand has not been 
raised to take his life.” 

“Never were words spoken I longed so 
much to hear,” cried the President, with un- 
usual warmth; “and now let us go to the 
drawing-room. I have promised to let Melanie 
know all the information I have been able to 
obtain about this melancholy event.” 

Zorndorff followed his uncle to the room 
next the boudoir, out of which, looking very 
pale, and in deep mourning, Melanie came to 
meet them. With an absence of the reserve 
usual in her manner towards the President, 
she sat down beside him, and, taking his 
hand, hoped that the sin of suicide no longer 
rested on Rupert’s memory. 

“ Nothing further has been discovered, 
calculated to throw a light on that subject, 
as yet,” he answered ; “ but I can speak and 
you can listen more calmly than y’esterday’, 
and I shall endeavour as plainly’ as possible 
to explain to you all I have heard and seen. 
The remains of our unfortunate cousin were 
accidentally discovered by a man of the name 
of Fischer, when walking with his brother in 
the part of the wood nearest the town. His at- 
tention was instantly attracted, as there was a 
clear space for some distance around, and Ru 
pert was dressed in the well-known uniform of 
his regiment — on the left his cloak, sabre, and 
cap, and close to the right hand a pistol, ap- 
parently discharged. Fischer hurried back 
to Exfort, gave the necessary information, 
and competent persons, accompanied by two 
or three surgeons, immediately proceeded to 
the described spot, where they were soon 
after joined by Fischer and the cabiuet-makei 
Forster, in whose house Rupert has had 
apartments since he has been quartered here. 
Forster instantly recognised the body, and 
declared it to be that of Baron Adlerkron, 
who had left his house on the ‘2‘2d of August, 
soon after four o’clock in the morning, and 
had not afterwards returned.” 

“ It must have been but a few hours after 
he left us,” said Melanie, shuddering. “Cy- 
rilla’s fears w’ere but too well founded.” 

“By the time I arrived,” continued the 
President, “ the judicial dissection was ended 
— the uniform had been found full of blood, 
and beneath and near the body, still greater 


CYK1LLA. 


201 


quantities were evidsnt. In the left side, a 
round hole had been observed, which the 
surgeons immediately declared went ‘ through 
and through this was proved to be the 
case, and between the shirt and waistcoat, 
the bullet that had killed him was discov- 
ered." 

“I suppose his death was almost instanta- 
neous ? ” said Melanie, witi some difficulty 
of utterance, as her husband paused. 

“I fear not,” he answered, “although the 
surgeons pronounced the wound absolutely 
mortal. When asked for an opinion, as to 
whether it were the result of a murder, a 
suicide, or an accident, they came to the 
hasty, and I think false conclusion, that it 
had been self-inflicted, either purposely or 
by chance.” 

“But what were their reasons for this 
horrible supposition ? ” asked Melanie. 

“After describing the wound,” said the 
President, taking some papers from his 
pocket, and selecting one which he held to- 
wards the window, “they say:— 

“ ‘ This opinion is corroborated by the pis- 
tol being found so near the right hand, of 
which the fingers are blackened, apparently 
from the burning of the powder in the pan ; 
and also from the fact of the ball having 
passed quite through the body of the de- 
ceased. Had another person fired at Baron 
Adlerkron, be must have been not only very 
close to him, but also of extremely small 
stature. This view of the case is still further 
strengthened by the fact, that no robbery has 
been committed, and that there are no indi- 
cations that the deceased has fallen by other 
hand than his own.’ ” 

“Melanie,” cried a faint voice from the 
adjoining room ; “ come here for a moment.” 

“ Cyrilla has heard us,” said Melanie, ris- 
ing ; “ but she would at all events have in- 
sisted on being told every particular.” 

The President was summoned directly 
afterwards ; and as he slowTy entered the 
boudoir, Zorndorff, whose silence had made 
bis presence altogether forgotten, rose, and 
approaching the door, looked into the room, 
now gloomy in the gathering twilight, and 
law Cyrilla lying on a sofa near an open 
window. He was shocked at the ravages 
which a couple of days had made in her ap- 
earance — her figure seemed to have shrunk 
eneath the folds of her black dress — her 
face, ever small and delicate, had lost ever} 7 ' 
trace of colour, perhaps even some of its 
foundness, for her eyes, as is usual in such 
cases, seemed to have grown darker and 
larger ; but what gave her whole person an 
air of desolateness was, that her long fair 
hair, which, curling naturally, had always 
fallen into closely rolling ringlets, now, 
though arranged as usual, hung at each side 
of her face waveless and dishevelled. 

She held out her hand to the President ; 
asked him to sit down beside her, and after 
a pause said, with great effort, “ Could I — 
#ee him — once more — only for a few minutes 
•—before he is — buried? ’ 

“ Impossible, my dea" Cyrilla,” he answer- 
ed, compassionately. 


“I was present at his interment this morn, 
ing.” 

“ So soon — so soon — ” she faltered. 

“It was ordered by the crown-office, after 
communication with the military authorities," 
he answered. 

“And where have they — ■” she buried her 
face in her hands, unable to finish the sen 
tence. 

“ In the St. Leonard’s churchyard ; but 
only for the present, Cyrilla. As soon as 
these painful investigations are over, we shall 
remove his dear remains to Windhorst.” 

“ There, too, I wish to be buried,” she said, 
with sudden animation. “You will not for- 
get that — in the grave we may be united — 
promise me that it shall be so ? ” 

“Undoubtedly,” said the President, grave- 
ly ; “ but you know too well your duties as 
a Christian, to yield to inordinate grief, and 
I hope and trust you will make the neceswary 
exertion to preserve your health.” 

“I am ready to make any effort you 
please,” said Cyrilla, suddenly raising her- 
self from her reclining position, and sitting 
quite upright, “ if you will only tell me with- 
out reserve whatever is known of this dread- 
ful event. I heard what you said to Melanie 
just now — but all that occurred yesterday, 
surely you must have heard something more 
to-day ? ” 

“ I have got the depositions of Forster and 
Ehrhardt,” said the President; “and if you 
feel sufficiently well to listen, I believe there 
is still light enough for me to read them to 
you. It is in Forster’s house, you know, that 
Rupert ” 

“I know,” said Cyrilla; “go on.” 

“Anton Forster, burgher, cabinet-maker, 
Ac. Ac. Ac., deposed — Baron Adlerkron 
lodged in my house for two years ; was a 
man of large fortune, extremely cheerful 
temper, and liked by every one who knew 
him. On the 14th of last April, he celebrat- 
ed his twenty -sixth birthday, and on that 
occasion told me it would be the last he 
should spend in my house, as he was about 
to leave the army and live on his estates. 
On the 2*2d of August, at four o’clock in the 
morning, I heard him walking about his 
rooms, and knowing that his man Ehrhardt 
had been sent to Freilands the evening be- 
fore, I supposed he might require some one, 
so I got up and asked him if I could be of 
any service; he thanked me in his usual 
friendly way, but said he did not want any- 
thing. On opening the door, I perceived 
that he thrust a pistol into the pocket of the 
cloak he had thrown over his shoulders. 
Soon after he went down stairs and out of 
the house, but when passing the door of my 
work-room where I was standing, he said, in 
case of Ehrhardt’s coming to me, I should 
desire him to return to Freilands, and remain 
there until he (Baron Adlerkron) should ar 
rive. This message I delivered, and sup 
posed until yesterday that the Baron was in 
Freilands. I cannot believe it possible that 
this cheerful happy man has shot himself — 
there must be some other way of accounting 
for his death.” 


JO 2 


CYRILLA. 


The President folded up the paper, while 
he observed: “Further grounds for this sup- 
position Forster could not give. Ehrhardt, 
who you know has been ten or twelve years 
in Rupert’s service, was in such a state of 
agitation and grief, that it was found neces- 
sary to defer the- conclusion of his examina- 
tion until to-morrow ; he confirmed, how- 
ever, Forster’s evidence by saying : — 

“‘On the 21st, Baron Adlerkron desired 
me late at night to go to Freilands, and order 
for the next day a dinner for six — the mes- 
sage afterwards given me by Mr. Forster, 
when I saw him the next morning, induced 
me to return to Freilands, and remain there, 
although my master did not come on the 22d 
or 23dT I expected him from hour to hour 
— knew that he did not require my services, 
as there were others to supply my place, 
and any uneasiness 1 felt was removed by 
the steward, Mr. Bader, saying, that busi- 
ness was certainly the cruise of the delay. 
Yesterday we heard from the gendarme 
Klug of the dreadful event, that had hap- 
pened. I do not believe that Baron Adler- 
kron has shot himself ; he was too religious, 
too cheerful, and much too happy to commit 
such an act.’ 

“ I have little more to add,” said the Pres- 
ident, turning to Cyrilla. “Ehrhardt recog- 
nised the pistol that had been found as one 
of Rupert’s ; and on being asked for what 
persons the dinner at Freilands had been or- 
dered, said, he understood that Major Arn- 
lieim, the Captains Stauffen and Maier, and 
the Lieutenants von Marold and Treumann 
had been invited — none of them, however, 
came.’' 

“But the} 7 may be able to give some in- 
formation,” suggested Melanie. 

“ It is to be hoped so ; and as soon as a 
judicium mixtum has been constituted, they 
will undoubtedly be examined.” 

The President paused, then attempted 
some words of grave, rational consolation, 
but broke off suddenly, exclaiming, “ Cyrilla, 
your loss is irreparable — God give you resig- 
nation! We can offer you nothing but sym- 
pathy.” 

In mournful silence, and with tearful eyes, 
Melanie presided at the tea-table that eve- 
ning. The President complained of head- 
ache, and retired early to his room ; and 
Zorndorff, who had been reading or pretend- 
ing to read, no sooner was certain of his be- 
ing out of hearing than he started up, and, 
detaining Melanie, entreated of her to pro- 
cure him an interview of only a few minutes 
with Cyrilla. 

“Impossible,” she replied, coldly. “You 
can form no idea of what she has suffered 
since yesterlay, and seeing you would but 
agitate her unnecessarily.” 

“ Not, surely, when I can give her the as- 
surance that I have had no quarrel, no duel, 
with Adlerkron? ” 

“ Can you, indeed, do so ? ” cried Melanie, 
eagerly. “That would at least relieve her 
mind from the fear of having been the indi- 
rect cause of his death. We did you injus- 
tice, Edouard. We thought ” 

matter what,” cried Zorndorff, hasti- 


ly. “I am prepared lor these suspicions, 
and find them natural and reasonable. It 
will appear equally so to you, I hope, my 
desire to remove them.” 

“Oh, certainly/’ said Melanie, opening the 
door without further hesitation, and advanc- 
ing quickly towards her sister, who, bending 
over the only book that canjbe read in times 
of trial and sorrow, had clasped her hands 
over her forehead to shade her eyes from the 
strong light of the lamp now burning before 
her. 

“ Edouard is here, Cyrilla, and greatly de- 
sires to see you. He eomes to assure us that 
he is innocent of the crime we both so un- 
hesitatingly laid to his charge;, that he has 
had no quarrel, no hostile meeting, with Ru- 
pert ; and the intelligence will, I am sure, be 
as great a. relief to your mind as it has been 
to mine.” 

“If 1 could but believe it!” said Cyrila, 
with a deep) sigh. 

“Can you doubt me on an occasion like 
this?” cried Zorndorff, coining forward. 

“Doubt you !” repeated Cyrilla, raising 
herself languidly, and then pausing. “Yes. 
Count. Zorndorff* I more than doubt you .” 

“ I knew you would,” he said, bitterly 
“ yet you have heard the opinion of the sur 
geons, and ” 

“ It has not the slightest weight with me," 
she interposed ; “nor will it have with any 
one who ever knew him.” 

“Be it so ; but believe at least what I said 
to Melanie, and am ready to conii nn to you 
with my word of honour.” • 

“Speak not at all of honour,” said Cyrilla ; 
“you know not what it is.” 

“This is hard to bear,” he observed, with 
an appearance of intense mortification — 
“very hard; but though you will not believe 
my words, perhaps my actions may convince 
you. Had I taken your cousin’s life, I should 
not be here now. My only chance of safety 
would have been in instant fiight. If you 
consider this, and my strong motives to avoid 
doing anything likely to separate me for ever 
from you ” 

“Tell him to go away, Melanie,” said Cy- 
rilla, in a voice so weak as to he scarcely au- 
dible. 

“Not until I have said how deeply I com 
miserate your present sufferings, how sin 
eerely I participate in your sorrow. Cyrilla, 

I .acknowledge that I was jealous of 

that, latterly, 1 almost hated Adlerkron ; 
but, by all that is sacred, if I could secure 
your happiness, and recall him to life now 
by the sacrifice of my own, I would do so 
this moment willingly — joyfully I ” 

These words, which were uttered with the 
fervour of truth, and in a voice of extreme 
anguish, made Cyrilla look up). The expres- 
sion of his C\ rnteuance did not in the least 
weaken the impression they had made. “ I 
hope,” she said, after a moment’s pause, “I 
hope, for your sake and for mine, Count 
Zorndorff, that I have wronged you. If, in- 
deed, you are not guilty of innocent blooi 
-if) mu are not the author of this my last 
and hardest trial — forgive my suspicions, and 
let us part in peace.” 


CYRILLA. 


20 % 


She slowly and somewhat solemnly held 
out her hand, her lips apart, her eyes fixed 
inquiringly on his. % 

For a moment he seemed to hesitate; then, 
snatching her hand, pressed it to his lips ; 
and, without again attempting to speak, 
rushed out of the room. 

-+ 

CHAPTER LIII. 

The renewed examination of Ehrhardt on 
the following day, and his answers to ques- 
tions concerning the habits and acquaint- 
ances of his deceased master, gave little clew 
to further investigations, until he observed, 
‘Baron Adlerkron was every day last week 
in the house of the President, Count Falken- 
stein, and it was supposed he was to be mar- 
ried immediately to his cousin, Mademoiselle 
d’Adlerkron. He was there on the evening 
of the 21st; and, on his return, I gave him 
a note from the Kammer-assessor, Count 
Zorndorff. He dismissed me directly after- 
wards, saying he was not going to bed for 
6ome time, and wished, if I did not mind the 
lateness of the hour, that I would ride to 
Freilands and order dinner for the. next day. 
Of the contents of the note I am quite igno- 
rant.” 

On the 26th the Chamber of Inquiry sent 
a report to the Upper Court, ending as fol- 
lows : — “Although the surgeons are of opin- 
ion that Baron Adlerkron must have fallen 
by his own hand, there are some circumstan- 
ces that seem to prove the contrary. For 
nstance, the brilliant position and remark- 
ibly cheerful temper of the deceased — his 
perfect contentment with his lot in life — the 
orders for a dinner at Freilands ; and espe- 
cially the appearance of the wound discover- 
ed on the body; and the fact that the uni- 
form, where the bullet entered, was neither 
burnt or singed. Had Baron Adlerkron 
taken his own life, there would have been the 
usual marks of damage on his clothes; and 
he would most probably have placed the pis- 
tol on a part of his body that would have 
ensured a quicker and less painful death. In 
order to continue the investigation with any 
prospect of success, we must wish in this 
case that permission be given us to extend 
our inquisition to persons of the military pro- 
fession, without having to wait for the for- 
mation of a judicium mixtum ...” 

The permission was given, and civil and 
military, high and low, eagerly awaited the 
result of a trial in which all lelt the deepest 
interest. 

The military authorities were requested 
not to grant leave of absence to any officer 
until the conclusion of the investigation. 

The arguments were re-examined which 
the surgeons had advanced to support their 
opinion, but the Inquisitor considered them 
insufficient. He observed, that the pistol 
found beside the deceased proved in no wav 
that he had shot himself, for the black marks 
on the fingers might have been purposely 
made in order to i unove the suspicion of 
tourdei That Baron Adler kron’s not being 


robbed caused only the sup] osition that he 
had not fallen by the hands cf highwaymen 
and the ball had parsed through the body 
in so horizontal a direction that it would be 
difficult to imagine such a wound self-inflict- 
ed. These circumstances' considered, the 
court surmised, that Baron Adlerkron had 
lost his life in a duel, and that the accom- 
plices of ihe crime had obliterated as careful- 
ly as possible every trace of it. 

An examination of the ball found in the? 
body led to the discovery that it was for the 
pistol of the deceased much too large. 

The Court, finding in this a confirmation 
of their opinion, now made the most strenu 
ous endeavours to discover the murderer of 
a young man so universally beloved and la- 
mented. 

On the 29th of August, the President* 
Count Falkenstein, Tvas examined. He said, 
without hesitation, that his sister-in-law had 
been affianced to her cousin, Baron Adler- 
kron, and that their marriage was to have 
taken place in the course of a few weeks — 
that Adlerkron had been at his house until 
late on the evening of the 21st, and had 
spoken of his intention to dine at Freilands 
the following day. By whom Ms life bad 
been taken, he had not the least idea, but he 
was quite convinced that it was not a case of 
suicide. 

That the officers named by Ehrhardt as 
those he supposed invited to dine at Frei- 
lands could give some information respecting 
the unfortunate event, seemed more than 
probable; they were, therefore, examined 
separately, and every precaution taken to 
prevent collusion. 

Major Arnheim declared, that lie had not 
seen Baron Adlerkron since the 21st On 
that day, in the barrack-yard, Adlerkron had 
said he intended to spend the next day at 
Freilands ; and if nothing occurred to pre- 
vent him from going there, he would let him 
(Arnheim) know, that he might join a little 
party he intended to bring together. He 
(Arnheim) had heard nothing farther on the 
subject, and had concluded, either that the 
party had been deferred, or that Adlerkron 
had forgotten to send to him. 

The Court observed, that it was very un- 
likely that Arnheim had received no renewal 
of the invitation, as on the night of the 21st 
actual orders for the reception of guests had 
been sent to Freilands, which would scarcely 
have been thought necessary if Adlerkron 
had not again either sent or spoken to them. 
Arnheim answered, “You must take my 
word for the truth of what 1 have said.” 

The statements of the Captains Maier and 
Stauflfen, and the Lieutenants von Marold and 
Treumann were to the same purport ; and 
although there was every probability that 
they had spoken to each other on the subject, 
so it was also not impossible that Adlerkron. 
on the morning of the 22d, had intended after 
the duel to renew the invitations to his 
friends. 

But — had a duel taken place — were there 
r.o seconds? That was not probable, arid it 
was to be inferred, that Adler kron’s had been 
an officer, and the one with whom he w.u 


*04 


C Y R I L L A 


most intimate. At all events, there was rea- 
son to suppose that Adlerkron’s friends would 
be able to give some information on the sub- 

i ’ect; and after inquiries cautiously made, it 
>ecame evident that the two officers in his 
regiment with whom he had been on terms j 
of unusual intimacy were Major Arnheim 
and Captain StaufFen : the latter, too,, had 
been seen on the 20th walking up and down 
the barrack-yard with Count Zorndorff; and, 
to judge by their manner, they had been 
speaking of something of importance. 

The Court summoned Count Zorndorff be- 
fore the officers were dismissed; but he, 
somewhat haughtily, professed his incapa- 
bility to give the information they desired — 
did not recollect having had any conversation 
with StaufFen in the barrack-yard on the 20th, 
or having sent a note to Adlerkron on the 
21st. 

While this examination was taking plape, 
a deputation from the Court had been sent 
to Adlerkron’s apartments to examine his 
papers, and returned in a very short time 
with the following notes and letters. 

(1.) Note dated 20tli August 1833, signed 
with the letters A. St. as follows: — 

“ I have spoken to Z. and explained your 
wishes to him in a manner not derogatory to 
your honour — he left me in order to consult 
with Count L. — Z. has just returned, and says 
he cannot arrange the matter amicably, and 
it must remain as was agreed upon. lie will 
speak to Kl., and proposes himself being your 
second on the occasion — I cannot — you know 
my reasons — God preserve you.” 

(2.) Note dated 21st August 1833, signed, 
with the letter Z., containing the words : — * 
“I have arranged everything. You are 
expected to-morrow morning at the appoint- 
d place.” 

Envelopes of both notes failing. 

(3.) An open letter in Adlerkron’s hand- 
vriting, to Mademoiselle d’ Adlerkron, as fol- 
ows 

“ At length, dearest Cyrilla, my arrange- 
ments are completed. What arrangements ? 

I hear you ask. Those which are necessary 
when the uncertainty of life is increased by 
its being put in imminent peril. I have been 
placed under the necessity of accepting a 
challenge, to which, you may be assured, 
both my principles and fervent affection for 
you prevented me from giving any cause. I 
shall therefore once more endeavour to pro- 
cure an amicable arrangement of the affair, 
if it be possible, without detriment to my 
honour ; but as I cannot reckon on the suc- 
cess of my efforts, or foresee the result of the 
duel, I write these lines, considering it an in- 
dispensable duty, in case of the worst, to let 
you know my fate, and also to give you the 
only proof now in my power of my ardent 
love, and boundless gratitude for your affec- 
tion. Accept, then, my beloved Cyrilla, the 
enclosed deed of gift, which will put you in 
possession of Freilands, and whatever other 
property I have at my own disposal. Fare- 
well. The thought that we shall meet again 
will, if 1 fall, alleviate the pain of parting 
with life and you. Thank Melanie and Fab 
kenatein for the kindness and friendship they 


have ever shown me. I am unable to write 
more ; but remain, even in death, with un- 
diminished affection, your devoted 

“Adlerkron Windhorst." 
“Exfort, 21st August, 1833 — near midnight." 

The document mentioned was found beside 
the letter, signed, as witnesses, by Arnheim 
and StaufFen. 

After the necessary communication t>e 
tween the civil and military authorities, 
Zorndorff, Arnheim, and StaufFen were putir. 
arrest, and their lodgings searched. Nothing, 
however, being found that in any way rela- 
ted to the unfortunate occurrence under in- 
vestigation, the examinations were pursued 
in the direction given by the papers found 
in Adlerkron’s apartments. 

Count Zorndorff, on being further inter- 
rogated, refused to acknowledge having 
written the note signed with Z. Competent 
judges compared the character with that of 
letters undoubtedly written by him, and gave 
an opinion that the note and letters had been 
written by the same hand. 

StaufFen could not be again examined for 
some time. Grief for the loss of his friend, 
and consternation at his own position, had 
seriously affected his health. 

The' police inspector, Semmering, now very 
opportunely gave notice that a Count Lin- 
desmar, who lodged in the Hotel de Prusse, 
although he had engaged apartments there 
until Christmas, had demanded a passport 
for a journey to Italy, and that it had been 
given him, as there was no ostensible reason 
for a refusal. 

A member of the Court of Inquiry instant- 
ly repaired to the hotel, accompanied by 9 
protocolist. 

Lindesmar was giving directions about the 
packing of his effects, and seemed alarmed 
as the criminal functionaries entered his 
room. After hearing that his sudden resolu- 
tion to leave Exfort had made it necessary 
to question him without delay about an af- 
fair of importance, he answered hastily — 

“ I can easily imagine it.” 

lie was instantly requested to explain 
himself further — became embarrassed, and 
his embarrassment was taken advantage of 
so skilfully, that at length he broke out into 
the words — 

“Would to God I had never come to Ex- 
fort, and were guiltless of the crime I have 
committed ! Your suspicions are well 
founded. On the morning of the 22d, I shot 
Baron Adlerkron in a duel ; but 1 was irrita 
ted and provoked to the deed — if it had not 
been for Zorndorff, every thing would have 
been arranged amicably. When Adlerkron 
sank on the ground I was on the point of 
putting an end to my own lifel ” 

On being afterwards questioned by the 
Court of Inquiry, he gave the following an- 
swers, and connected statement of the trans- 
action. 

“ 1 lost my father when I was ten year# 
old — resided afterwards with my maternal 
grandfather, the Marquis de Yieuville, in 
France, until I was in my twentieth year. 
1 then returned to Germany and studied 


CYR1LLA 


tamer alia, at the Universities of Heidelberg 
and Gottingen. About three months ago I 
came to Exfort in order to commence my ca- 
reer in my native land, and if possible to 
procure a situation here. I had letters of 
recommendation to the President, Count 
Falkenstein ; to the Kammer-director Hatz- 
feld, and to the Kammer-assessor Count 
Zorndorff, and have constantly frequented 
their houses. Adlerkron I knew when I 
was a child, and he has been intimate with 
my family more than twenty years ; I was 
therefore the more disposed to be angry 
when Count Zorndorff, on the evening of the 
12th August, told me that he (Adlerkron) 
had been turning me into ridicule before 1 lie 
Falkensteins, and, among other things, had 
said, ‘A would be long before I should get a 
situation .’ Almost in the same breath Zorn- 
dorff observed, that, of all the officers here, 
Adlerkron was the one he most disliked ; in 
fact, he had every reason to hate him. It 
annoyed me that I had been spoken slight- 
ingly of before persons whose good opinion 
was of such consequence to me, and I there- 
fore went the next day to Lieutenant Klemm- 
hein, with whom I had made acquaintance 
at Heidelberg, requested him to speak to 
Adlerkron, and in case he had used those 
words to demand in myname the satisfaction 
due to me. Klemmhein returned to me the 
same day, and said Adlerkron acknowledged 
he may have so spoken, but certainly not 
with the intention to injure or offend me, 
still less in derision. While Klemmhein was 
still speaking, Zorndorff entered the room, 
and having heard Adlerkron’s message, cried 
out, ‘0 hoi the gentleman has no fancy for 
firearms it seems. Both adorers of the same 
fair lady, Lindesmar lets himself be driven 
from the field by a manoeuvre that seldom 
ails of success with women, and i9 satisfied 
with a doubtfully worded excuse sent him 
vhrough a mutual friend.’ By ZorndorfFs 
advice, I then sent Klemmhein to Adlerkron 
to say, that nothing less than an apology of- 
fered in the presence of Mademoiselle d’ Ad- 
lerkron would satisfy me, and this message 
Klemmhein gave him on the 14th. Adler- 
kron sent me word, that as he had not had 
the slightest intention of offending me, he 
would willingly give the explanation I de- 
sired in the presence of Mademoiselle d’Ad- 
lerkron and the President von Falkenstein, 
and with this declaration I was perfectly sat- 
isfied. On the 15th, however, Zorndorff 
came again, and informed me in the most in- 
censing manner, that Adlerkron had the eve- 
ning before related the whole affair at the 
President’s, and that my conduct had been 
severely censured. Exasperated beyond 
measure, I instantly sent to him, and propos- 
ed a meeting in the wood just outside the 
town ; but when Klemmhein told me it had 
been agreed to, and that Adlerkron had sent 
for Stauffen, my anger was cooled. I felt 
that I had been unreasonable, and requested 
Zorndorff, who was well acquainted with 
Stauffen, to en ieavour to accommodate mat- 
ters. if it could be done without compromising 
my honour. On the 20th. b -wever, he told 
me that Stauffen ha^ *£ been able to per- 


10 * 

suade Adlerkron to fulfil hi* first promise 
and that, for his own part, lie could do no*- 
thing more for me, as in consequence of some 
scruples on the part of Stauffen he had him- 
self undertaken to second Adlerkron, who 
expected me on the 22d at the place ap 
pointed. I now know but too well, that if 
it had not been for Zorndorff, this dreadful 
event would never have happened. He re- 
assured me when I asked what risk I ran, 
what penalty I incurred should the duel be- 
come known, by answering, ‘ Here, as else- 
where, duelling is permitted by connivance.’ 

I went at the hour appointed to the wood, 
accompanied by Zorndorff, who called for 
me. Klemmhein was already there, and 
Adlerkron arrived almost directly afterwards. 
He advanced towards me at once, saying:— » 

“ ‘ I am here, Count Lindesmar, to give 
you the satisfaction you demand, although I 
am perfectly certain that I have never inten 
tionally offended you.’ 

“ I was abofot to extend my hand to him, 
when Zorndorff observed contemptuously : — 
“‘We have not come here, I should think, 
to listen to exclamations of this kind — instea l 
of speeches, you had better exchange shots.' 

“The pistols were examined by the sec- 
onds, loaaed, and ten paces measured. After 
Adlerkron had laid aside his cloak and sabre 
he took his place. I fired and — missed. 
Adlerkron purposely fired much too high. 
The pistols were again loaded, and this time 
Zorndorff incensed me by whispering, ‘Will 
you submit to be treated so completely en 
bagatelle ? Aim lower ! ’ 

“ I then fired with the wish to hit 

Adlerkron sank on the ground. Klentmhein 
and I rushed towards him to raise him up, 
but we saw directly that he was desperately 
wounded, as the blood gushed violently from 
his left 9ide. ‘Leave me,’ he said in a weak 
voice, ‘ I am dying — think of your own safety 
now. I forgive you, Lindesmar — you were 
but a tool in the hands of Zorndorff, who 

’ Unable to finish the sentence, he 

made a motion with his hand as if to induce 
us to flight, then murmured something more, 
but I could only distinguish the words ‘ Cy* 
rilla,’ and ‘ meet again,’ and after a few con* 
vulsive movements — he died. I was distract* 
ed with grief and horror, and would willingly 
have given my life to be free from the crime 
I had committed. I reproached Zorndorff 
bitterly; but, with his usual coolness, he 
said he had no time for useless words — our 
safety required action ; and after many pro- 
posals, all made by him, we at length agreed 
to confess nothing and persuade Stauffen, the 
only one who knew of the affair, to keep our 
secret. Adlerkron’s pistol was discharged, 
laid beside the body, and Zorndorff having 
blackened his hand on my pistol, rubbed the 
fingers of Adlerkron’s right hand, saving, it 
would lead to the supposition that lie had 
committed suicide. We smoothed as well a9 
we could the sandy ground, in which the 
marks of our footsteps were too evident, and 
then returned by different roads to Exfort. 
Zorndorff told me in the afternoon he had 
had great difficulty in quieting Stauffen, w^« 
was in despair at the fate of his friend 


206 


CYRILLA. 


out that at leugth he had said, for Klernin- 
hein’s sake he would give no information 
until compelled to do so by the proper au- 
thorities. Zorndorff added, ‘ For my part, I 
am quite resolved not to confess, even if you 
should all bear witness against me.’ ” 

“ On being askec^ if they had been accom- 
panied by a surgeon, Count Lindesmar an- 
swered : 

“Zorndorff said it was better to have as 
few people as possible concerned ; but that 
»ie had engaged one to wait in the Raven’s 
nut, which was but a short distance from the 
spotj” 

Lindesmar was committed for trial, and on 
the same day Klein inhein and Stauffen were 
arrested ; the latter acknowledged without 
hesitation that the note found in Adlerkron’s 
apartments, signed A. St., had been written 
by him, and related : — 

“On the 15th of August, Adlerkron sent 
for me, and said that Count Lindesmar had 
called him to account for a well-meant ob- 
servation that he had made one evening at 
Freilands, when he had regretted that Lindes- 
mar had been obliged to remain so long unem- 
ployed, and had requested the President to use 
his influence for him. Adlerkron asked me, 
if the duel should take place, to be his sec- 
ond on the occasion ; but I declined, giving 
him my reasons at some length, and prom- 
* ising to do everything in my power to arrange 
the affair satisfactorily — which Adlerkron, 
who was perfectly innocent, unreservedly 
said he sincerely desired. Zorndorff called 
on me soon after to make inquiries on the 
part of Lindesmar, who, he said, ‘had a 
strong suspicion that Adlerkron’s courage 
had been overrated, he showed so decided a 
desire to get out of the affair on any terms.’ 
This annoyed me greatly, and I told Zorn- 
dorff ‘It was a shame to speak in such a 
manner — that lie ought ’ rather to endeavour 
to remove Lindesmahs delusion, and do all 
he could to prevent a duel that could bring 
the challenger no honour.’ Nevertheless on 
the 20th Zorndorff came to me again, and 
assured me he had found it impossible to 
induce Lindesmar to listen to any explana- 
tions. 1 then informed him that I had de- 
clined being Adierkron’s second, and he im- 
mediately proposed undertaking the office 
himself. Directly after, I wrote the note 
which has just been shown to me.” 

The deed, signed by him as witness, was 
' now placed before him, and he added : “ On 
the 21st, Adlerkron sent for me and Major 
Arnlieim, and informing us that he had been 
affianced a week or ten days previously to 
his cousin, Mademoiselle d’ Adlerkron, said he 
wished to cede Freilands as a gift to her, and 
begged us to witness the deed, which he 
placed before us — We did so, after he had 
signed and sealed it in our presence. Arn- 
heim had not the least idea of his motives for 
this unusual proceeding ; he was completely 
in ignorance of everything relating to the 
unfortunate affair; but I, when signing my 
name, felt a painful presentiment that I was 
witnessing Adlerkron’s last will.” 

To the question why he had not prevented 


the duel by giving information to the proper 
authorities, he answered: 

“You know our duel laws better than I 
do, but not the friendship that has existed 
between Adlerkron and me for years. Had 
I betrayed him, I should not alone have 
plunged him into endless annoyances, but 
even the severity of the law would have 
fallen rigorously upon him, and I should have 
lost my honour as an officer. If you consider 
this, and my hope that the duel might not 
take place, or, if it did, might end fortunately 
and remain unknown, you will scarcely blame 
my conduct.” 

Major Arnlieim repeated what he had said 
iu the first instance, with the assurance that 
he had signed the deed, merely supposing 
that his friend Adlerkron had wished to sur- 
prise his cousin, to whom he was extremely 
attached, with a gift of unusual magnificence. 

Major Arnheim was then freed from arrest, 
and returned to the duties of his regiment, 
Stauffen released on parole, and Klemmhein 
the same day examinod at great length. He 
related without reserve his own share in the 
disastrous event — knew perfectly the risk he 
had incurred, as he had studied law at 
Heidelberg, where he had made the acquaint- 
ance of Count Lindesmar. Afterwards, pre- 
ferring the military profession, he had en- 
tered the army about two years previously, 
and had been, during that time, quartered at 
Exfort. 

On being requested to give a detailed ao- 
count of the duel, he did so in the following 
words : — 

“On the 18th of August, Lindesmar came 
to me, and said he had been injured and in- 
sulted by Adlerkron, who in the presence of 
the President and his family had made a jest 
of the delays in his appointment to a situa- 
tion at Exfort — Zorndorff had repeated the 
whole conversation to him. T observed that 
jesting unkindly was very unlike Adlerkron’s 
usual habits; but Lindesmar was angry, in- 
sisted on my demanding immediate satisfac- 
tion in his name, and requested me at the 
same time to be his second. I went directly 
to Adlerkron, who said that, when speaking 
of Lindesmar, he may have used the words 
in question, but certainly not scoffingly, and 
with no intention to injure him, as he had 
more than once urged the President to use 
his influence to prevent his being again dis- 
appointed. 1 repeated all this to Lindesmar 
who whs perfectly satisfied with the expla- 
nation, and would have let the matter rest if 
it had not been for the infernal insinuations 
and sneers of Zorndorff, who unfortunately 
entered the room while we were still speak 
ing on the subject. I do not exactly remem- 
ber what he said, but at all events enough 
to make it necessary for me to go again the 
next day to Adlerkron, and say that Lindes- 
mar would not withdraw the challenge un- 
less he consented to make an apology in the 
presence of Mademoiselle d ’Adlerkron ! At 
this unexpected demand, Adlerkron smiled, 
but after a few moments’ consideration ob 
served, that as he had never had the slightest 
intention of offending Count Lindesmar, li6 


CYKILLA. 


20t 


had no objection to say so in the presence of 
his cousin ; and if Lmdesmar imagined that 
his well-meant observation had injured him 
in the opinion of the President, he would en- 
deavour that very evening to repair the mis- 
chief, and set all to rights. When I told all 
this to Lindcsmar, he was completely ap- 
peased; and I was therefore greatly surpris- 
ed at his requiring me, on the loth, to be 
again the bearer of a hostile message to Ad- 
lerkron. On the evening of the 21st, Lindes- 
mar wrote me a note desiring me to meet 
him the next morning at four o’clock, in the 
wood outside the town. I went — was joined 
by Lindesmar and Zorndorff, and immediately 
afterwards by Adlerkron. lie advanced to- 
wards Lindesmar, and made some concilia- 
tory observation; but Zorndorff interfered, 
and it was then agreed that they were to fire 
three times. Zorndorff, as Adlerkron’s second, 
proposed five paces distance. I insisted on 
at least ten, and then the unfortunate duel 
began. I examined, and at Zorndorff ’s re- 
quest loaded both pistols. The construction 
was perfectly similar, so each received his 
own weapon. Lindesmar fired and missed — 
Adlerkron did not pretend to aim, he fired 
deliberately in the air, and I thought, after 
such a proof of forbearance, that Lindesmar 
would be satisfied. Zorndorff, however, 
urged the reloading of the pistols, and as 
Lindesmar again prepared to fire, Adlerkron 
seemed astonished at such unexpectedly shab- 
by conduct. A moment afterwards he was 
stretched on the ground mortally wounded. 
We endeavoured to raise him, but he request- 
ed us to desist, and I then saw that the ball 
had entered his side, and the blood was 
gushing from the wound with frightful vio- 
lence. He spoke a few words — wished us to 
piovide for our safety by flight — forgave 
Lindesmar, and died pronouncing the name 
of his cousin. I was too much shocked to 
pay much attention to what was said ; but 
1 can remember that Lindesmar was in a 
state bordering on distraction, and that he 
accused Zorndorff of being the cause of all 
that had happened. After proposing several 
plaute for the concealment of Adlerkron’s re- 
mains, Zorndorff said it was better to leave 
the body wdiere it lay, and to efface every 
trace that could lead to the conjecture that 
a duel had taken place. While he arranged 
the sabre and cap, I discharged the pistol 
and laid it beside Adlerkron’s hand, the fin- 
gers of which Zorndorff carefully blackened. 
We left the spot after having agreed to pre- 
serve our dreadful secret by the most pro- 
found silence. I believe I ought to add that 
you will scarcely induce Zorndorff to acknow- 
ledge his share in this lamentable affair, as 
he said he would submit to torture rather 
than confess ; and I can well imagine it, for 
his conduct was villanpus throughout. He 
had undertaken to engage Dr. Hurtig to re- 
main in the Raven’s hut ; but when I pro- 
posed going for him, it became evident he 
had given himself no concern about the mat- 
ter; and on my reproaching him for his un- 
pardonable neglect, he answered coldly: ‘Oi 
tthat us 3 would Hurtig nave been to us 


Let us rxther rejoice that one less has been 
intrusted with our secret.’ 

“ He then undertook to inform Stauffen of 
the fatal termination of the duel. Until then 
I had not known of his having been consult- 
ed. Adlerkron was not missed on the 22d 
and 23d, as he was still on leave.” 

“ It is unnecessary here to follow the care- 
ful manner in which the investigation was 
continued — the revisal of the opinion of the 
surgeons by the Medicinal Collegium, and the 
cross-questioning of Lindesmar and Klemm- 
hein, from whom, however, little more infor- 
mation could be obtained. On its being 
proved that Adlerkron, after having evident- 
ly fired in the air, continued on the same 
spot, facing his adversary, the Inquisitor 
asked Lindesmar how he could reconcile it 
to himself, having fired a second time at a 
man who, the moment before, had spared his 
life, and, by his careless position, showed the 
reliance he placed in the generosity of his 
opponent? Lindesmar answered with the 
most violent demonstrations of grief, “Spare 
me, for Heaven’s sake ! I already feel, to its 
fullest extent, the odiousness of my conduct 
Zorndorff took advantage of my natural im 
petuosity of temper, and provoked me to 
anger wnen there was no time for thought.’’ 


CHAPTER LI V. 

A few days after his arrest, Zorndorff had been 
attacked by fever, and was so long ill, aDd af- 
terwards so debilitated, that several weeks 
elapsed before his physician would consent to 
his being summoned for examination. On his 
first appearance, he answered the usual ques- 
tions concerning his birth, parentage, educa- 
tion, situation in life, «fcc. <fcc. <fcc., with haughty 
composure ; but the moment the interrogatories 
took a more serious direction, he became “so 
angry and excited, that the Inquisitor interrupt- 
ed him by saying, — 

“ Count Zorndorff, you are in a state of irri- 
tation that precludes the possibility of my con- 
tinuing your examination to-day ; ” and he was 
reconducted to prison without further explana- 
tion. 

It had become evident that Lindesmar and 
Klemmhein had been right in the supposition 
that Zorndorff would not confess willingly and 
without reserve as they had done, and it was 
resolved to procure the strongest evidence 
against him before he should be again sum- 
moned. 

His housekeeper, Frederica Schultze, was 
sworn, and deposed that, on the evening of the 
21st of August, Count Zorndorff had desired 
her to waken him the next morning soon after 
three o’clock. She did so, and observed that, 
directly he was dressed, he had gone to the 
Hotel de Prusse, which is in their neighbour- 
hood. At the end of about an hour and a halt 
lie returned home, and, saying he must wash 
his hands, went to his dressing-room. She re- 
marked at the time that his right hand was 
blackened, and, on afterwards removing th« 


C Y R I L L A. 


*08 

towel, perceived some streaks of black on it 
also. The house-linen had not been washed 
Bince that time, and she could produce the 
towel if necessary. This was required of her, 
and she then added : “ The Count was extreme 
>y vexed at having lost his seal-ring while out 
walkiug that morning ; but when I asked him 
to tell me where he had been, intending to look 
for it myself, he told me, as it was market-day, 
the ring had most probably been found already 
by some of the peasants he had met entering 
the town.” 

Search was immediately made for the ring 
in the part of the wood where the duel had 
taken place, and the proprietor of the Hotel de 
Prusse, Johann Baer, examined. 

“ He remembered the 2 2d of August, from a 
very painful cause — it was the day on which 
he had lost his youngest child, at two o’clock 
in the morning. About a quarter to four, as 
he was carrying his dead infant to a room on 
the ground floor, Count Zorndorff entered the 
Hotel, and walked up the stairs. He had 
asked if Count Lindesmar were up; and on 
the waiter Anton Sport's answering that the 
Count had long been dressed, he observed, 

‘ More punctual than I am, it seems.’ — They left 
the house together immediately afterwards.” 

The waiter Spoil confirmed Baer’s deposi- 
tion ; also the chambermaid Martha Gossmann. 
The latter added, “ that Count Lindesmar re- 
turned to the Hotel, pale and anxious-looking, 
and had not eaten anything the whole day. 
Towards noon he had walked about so un- 
easily in his room, sighing and speaking to 
himself, that curiosity had induced her to listen 
at the door, and she had distinctly heard the 
words ‘ Zorndorff — Zorndorff — what have you 
done ( ’ When, on the 24th, she heard that an 
officer had been found dead in the wood, it 
had immediately occurred to her that the 
Count must know something about the matter.” 

The search of the persons sent to look for 
the Zorndorff ring was unsuccessful, although 
the sand had been raked up, and passed 
through sieves ; but the object of search having 
become generally known, and a reward offered, 
the following dav, soon after sunrise, a poor 
day-labourer and his sister repaired to the 
spot, hoping to be more fortunate. As the 
latter walked towards a fir-tree, at a little dis- 
tance, in order to hang the handkerchief con- 
taining their breakfast upon one of the lower 
branches, she perceived a kid glove lying on 
it, and to her great joy, on examination, found 
that it contained a gold seal ring, which had 
probably been drawn unconsciously from the 
hand with the glove. They immediately 
returned to Exfort, received the promised re- 
ward, and the following day made the neces- 
tary deposition before the court. 

Although scarcely a doubt could be enter- 
tained that this was the ring of which Zorndorff 
had spoken to his house-keeper, as not only the 
Zorndorff arms were engaved upon it, but in- 
side also the letters E. G. v. Z. (Edouard Graf 
von Zorndorff) it was nevertheless considered 
advisable to question Frederica Schultze, on 
the subject, and she declared without hesita- 
tion that it was a ring the Count constantly 
wore, and never removed from his finger ex- 
cepting to seal his letters. 


She was then asked, if she could remember 
any notes or letters having been sent to any 
one in the town on or immediately before the 
21st of August, and, after a moment’s consid- 
eration, she answered, “The Count himself 
requested me to take a note for him, at a late 
hour on that day, to Baron Adlerkron’s lodg- 
ings ; and at the same time 'sent a packet of 
important papers, and another note, by his 
servant to the Kammer-revisor Klinghardt.” 

The Inquisitor went himself to the Ivammer- 
re visor’s, and, on consulting the official docu- 
ments, found, under the number 1233, a 

“ Report of the Revenues of the Crownland 
Sennheim and Streck.” 

Klinghardt immediately recollected that 
Zorndorff was reporter in this case, and that 
he had received a note from him on the sub- 
ject. This, too, was soon found, and was of 
importance, as it was dated 

“Exfort, 21st August, 1833, evening, 8 
o’clock,” and had been apparently sealed with 
the ring in possession of the court. 

To make the evidence complete, however, 
an engraver and medal-coiner were consulted ; 
and then Count Zorndorff was summoned for 
examination. 

Illness, imprisonment, and perhaps some 
other causes, combined to make him look ill, 
and even paler than ever ; but he walked for- 
ward as calmly, and seated himself in the offered 
chair with precisely the same easy negligence, 
as if he haa been in a drawing room, and was 
about to commence the most indifferent con- 
versation. He had probably repented his ve- 
hemence on a former occasion ; for when 
required to say where he had been on the 21st 
of August, and how employed, he answered 
quietly — 

“ I did not leave my apartments the whole 
day, as I had business of importance to trans 
act.” 

Inquisitor. “ How does it happen that yoi 
remember that day so accurately ? ” 

Zorndorff. “ My memory seldom fails me. 

Inquisitor. “ Then you can of course recol • 
lect the business on which you were era 
ployed ? ” 

Zorndorff. “ 0, certainly but I should 

think it was not necessary for me here to give 
an account of my employments as a civil offi- 
cer in the service of the state.” 

Inquisitor. “ It is required of you.” 

Zorndorff. “ I made a report of the rove 
nues of the crown-lands, Sennheim and Streck.' 

Inquisitor. “ What did you do with the re 
port when made ? ” 

Zorndorff. “ I sent it on the evening of tht 
21st to the Kammer-revisor Klinghardt.” 

Inquisitor. “ With or without a note from 
you ? ” 

Zorndorff. “ With a note from me 

May I know for what purpose you ask theB. 
questions ? ” 

Inquisitor. “Do you recognise this wri 
ting ? ” (The note to Klinghardt was hande« 
to him). 

Zorndorff. “ It is the note of which I hav« 
just spoken — how did it come into your 
hands ? ” 

Inquisitor. “Now, examine this note — and 
that found in Baron Adlerkron’s apartment, (it 


C Y ft I L L A 


205 


was placed before him), and acknowledge that 
the handwriting jp perfectly similar.”* 

Zorndorff. “ Many people’s handwriting 
may be like mine ; I do not at all dispute the 
resemblance.” 

Inquisitor. 11 Nothing seems wanting but 

the address and seal to 

Zorndorff. (Interrupting him quietly) “ The 
seal failing is, however, of some importance 
handwriting is more easily imitated than arms 
engraved.” 

Inquisitor. “ The seal on Klinghardt’s note 
is then yours ? ” 

Zorndorff. “Undoubtedly” 

Inquisitor. “ And you certainly wrote to 
him on the evening of the 21st ? ” 

Zorndorff (impatiently). “ I have already 
said so.” (After a pause, he added,) “ May I 
ask if my request to see Count Lindesmar is 
likely to be granted ? I shall suffer considera- 
ble pecuniary loss if he leave Exfort without 
my having had an interview with him.” 

Inquisitor (not taking any notice of the lattor 
part of this remark). “ That is probably the 
Lindesmar who was at the Hotel de Prusse 
some time ago — he is no longer there — it is 
more than a month since he asked for a pass- 
port, intending to travel, I believe.” 

Zorndorff found it difficult to conceal his 
satisfaction at this answer, though he pretended 
annoyance at his loss, and added, that “he 
ought not to have trusted any one on so short 
an acquaintance.” 

Inquisitor. “ Yet it is said that you have 
been very intimate with him.” 

Zorndorff. “ Only apparently. In conse- 
quence of an especial letter of introduction, I 
was obliged to show him some attention.” 

Inquisitor. “ Enough of him. Tell me how 
you employed yourself on the 22d of August.” 

Zorndorff. “ Not having any pressing busi- 
ness, I remained at home the greater part of 
the day.” 

Inquisitor. “As, however, it has been posi- 
tively asserted that you left your apartments 
at n very early hour on the morning of that day, 
I must request you to be more accurate in 
your answer ” 

Zorndorff. “ Who says that I went out 
early on the 2 2d ? ” 

Inquisitor. “ Many people have said so — 
both men and women, the truth of whose de- 
positions we can have no reason to doubt” 

Zorndorff. “ Depositions l ”, ” 

Inquisitor. “ Count Zorndorff, we know 
that on that morning you were wakened at 
your own desire soon after three o’clock. 
Will you acknowledge that to be the case or 
not * * 

~ Ziorndorff. 11 You had better ask the person 
who wakened me.” 

Inquisitor. “ Then you really wish your 
housekeeper to assist your memory ? ” 

Zorndorff. “ No. . I I remember hav- 

ing gone out soou after the hour you mention.” 
Inquisitor. “ For what purpose ? * 
Zorndorff. “ To see Lindesmar, who owed 
me some money.” 

*■ It is evident that the Inquisitor, by this observa- 
tion, endeavoured to conceal from Zorndorff his wish 
to obtain from him an acknowledgment that he had 
seed hU ring on the evtning of the 21st August 

1 A 


Inquisitor “ Did you see him ? ’ 

Zorndorff. “Yes ; but I oame_ at an unsea 
sonable time — Baer’s child had just died, and 
Lindesmar had no money.” 

Inquisitor. “ How long did y r ou remain 
with Lindesmar ? ” 

Zorndorff. “A very few minutes— it was 
gloomy at the hotel, and we went cut to 
walk. 

Inquisitor. “Did you meet any one?” 

Zorndorff. “ Tt was too early.’ 

Inquisitor. “ It is said, however, that your 
walk ended in a meeting with some acquaint- 


ances ? ” 

Zorndorff. “Who says so?” 

Inquisitor. “A meeting with some offi 
cers of the garrison here.” 

.Zorndorff. “ I dislike military men.” 

Inquisitor. “That may he; but it does 
not prove that you did not on the morning 
in question meet such.” 

Zorndorff. “Let me see those who say 
they met me.” 

(It had been arranged that, during this 
examination. Count Lindesmar and Lieuten- 
ant Klemmhein should he brought to sepa- 
rate rcoms in the vicinity of the trial-cham- 
ber, and that on a bell being rung once, 
Klemmhein, and, if twice, Lindesmar, should 
appear, t&t the appointed sign, Klemmhein 
entered the room.) 

Zorndorff (surprised). Klemmhein ! .. 

You here ? ” 

Klemmhein was motioned to retire with? 
out speaking, and the Inquisitor asked Zorn- 
dorff if he had not met that officer on the 
morning of the 22d. 

Zorndorff looked gloomily on the ground 
without answering. 

Inquisitor. “ Do you know this ring ? ” 
(He showed him the one found near the fatal 
spot). 

Zorndorff started ; became deadly pale, 
and, his eyes still fixed on the ring with a 
look of horror, he stammered, “Yes — yes — I 
lost — I mean — I gave it to — Lindesmar six 
or eight weeks ago.” 

Inquisitor. “Indeed! Then how could 
you have sealed a note with it on the 21st of 
August ? ” 

Zorndorff gazed at the ring in silence. 

Inquisitor. “ Can you explain this contra- 
diction ? ” 

Zorndorff. “ Lindesmar — was still here at 
that time * ” 

The Inquisitor gave the expected sign, and 
Lindesmar advanced towards them. 

Inquisitor (to Lindesmar). “ Has this ring 
ever been in your possession ? ” 

Lindesmar. “ Never.” 

Inquisitor. “ Do you owe Count Zorndorff 
any money? ” 

Lindesmar (turning angrily to Zorndoff). 
“ Did I ever in the course of our acquaints 
ance borrow the most trifling sum of you. 
Count Zorndorff? ” 

The Inquisitor made a sign to Lindesmar 
to withdraw without waiting for an answer 
to his indignant query, and then turned to 
Zorndorff, who had covered his eyes with hia 
hand. 

“When I said that Lindesmar was n« 


S10 


CYRILLA 


longer at the Hotel de Prusse, you falsely 
concluded he had undertaken the journey to 
Italy you so strongly recommended to him — 
he and Klemmhein were arrested before you, 
and they and Stauffen have related, without 
reserve, every circumstance concerning the 
unfortunate event of which you still pretend 
ignorance. All that you have said, done, 
and written in this fatal affair to Klemm- 
hein, Lindesmar, and Stauffen, has been, I 
can assure }'ou solemnly, officially collected, 
and the legal documents are now ready for 
judgment; but it is not alone living wit- 
nesses that testify against you — inanimate 
tilings give evidence almost as strong. I 
need not explain to } T ou the circumstances 
attending the finding of your ring, or the 
conclusion drawn from this towel (he pointed 
towards the one brought by Zorndorft’s 
housekeeper, and soiled with streaks of 
black), or this (and Lindesmar’s pistol and 
corresponding bullet were placed before 
him). You know all; but the court of in- 
quiry is equally well informed, and it is use- 
less your any longer trying to deceive your- 
self as to the position in which you are placed.” 

Zorndorff, who, during this speech, had 
never once raised his eyes from the ground, 
now rose, and with great difficulty uttered 
t.hf words: “I am too much confused to ex- 
plain — to — to confess just now*Give me 
time — time to end this last, most horrible, 
internal struggle.” 

Inquisitor. “ If you prefer writing, Count 
Zorndorff, you shall be furnished with the 
necessary materials in your room.” 

Zorndorff instantly accepted this proposal, 
and an hour afterwards the inquisitor re- 
ceived from him the following letter : — 

“ I feel too deeply how much I deserve 
the scorn and detestation of every one who 
may ever hear of the deplorable event that 
took place on the 22d of last August, to at- 
tempt any sort of palliation of my crime, 
nor shall I endeavour in any way to soften 
just indignation by a description of the men- 
tal sufferings I have endured since the per- 
petration of it, but declare at once that 1 
was Adlerkron s murderer. Lindesmar was 
but a tool used and abused by me, and Ad- 
lerkron, in the agonies of death, endeavoured 
to console him with this assurance, moved, 
perhaps, by his tears of penitence and excla- 
mations of despair. One motive alone urged 
me to this deed-*r<>ne so strong as to make 
me oversee all the dangers that surrounded 
it : I loved Cyrilla von Adlerkron, and vow- 
ed the destruction of the two men who 1* d 
latterly been my rivals, and were preferred 
to me on all occasions. I provoked a quar- 
rel between them, intrigued unceasingly until 
a duel was brought about, thinking that — let 
but one fall, the other must seek safety in 
flight, and (fool that I was) Cyrilla might 

then be mine ! Spare me the recital of 

the intrigue? by which Adierkron’s death 
was caused : it will suffice if I acknowledge 
that I misrepresented a well-meant observa- 
tion of his to Lindesmar, — that I provoked 
the latter to send him a challenge, — told him 
that duelling was connive! at here, — mis- 
used the confidence placet in me by him 


when he requested me to effect an honour 
able arrangement of the affair, — that I of- 
fered forced myself on- Adlerkron as a 

second, in order to insure the taking place of 
the duel, — that I did write the note to him, 
now in your possession, — went myself for 
Lindesmar on the morning of the 22d, and 
then enacted the part of second to his adver- 
sary. I confess that, in order to insure a 
fatal termination to the duel,- I proposed but 
five paces distance, — that Klemmhein would 
not consent, — and that, before the second 
shot, I irritated Lindesmar’s irascible tem- 
per by a sneer, and then told him to be 
more steady, and to aim lower Adler- 

kron’s second was a dishonourable scoundrel 

— you every one will say — and I have 

not one word to offer in exculpation 

Although I had undertaken to procure a sur- 
eon on this occasion, I purposely omitted 
oing so — the idea that one must die had so 

completely taken possession of my mind 

It was I who proposed laying the imputation 
of suicide on the victim alike of my love and 
hatred. I did every thing in my power to 
promote this end — it was necessary for our 

safety ; and Cyrilla von Adlerkron 

would more easily forget a man who had 
fallen by his own hand, than one whose life 
had been a sacrifice to an overstrained sense 
of honour. I need scarcely add, that I threw 
my glove on a tree or on the ground, and 
unintentionally with it a ring so very valuable 
to me that, had not conscience made me foi 
the first time in my life a coward, I should 
at any risk have searched for it. That 1 
urged Lindesmar to escape to Italy, fearing 
that his compunction and penitence might 
induce him to act in a manner inimical to 
my plans, may form the conclusion of this 
confession. Any further particulars neces- 
sary for the completion of the evidence I shall 
willingly give during the final examination, 
which will probably take place in a day or 
two. “ Zorndorff 

“Exfort Jail, the Yth October, 1833.” 

During this final examination, on tne 
10th, 12th, and 13th of October, Zorndorff, 
Lindesmar, and Klemmhein repeated their 
confessions, with a few unimportant addi- 
tions. Counsel was appointed for each. On 
the 26th all the collected evidence and acts, 
together with the written defence of each 
separately, were forwarded to the Justiz 
Collegium, , which in the first instance, pro- 
nounces sentence in criminal cases ; but 
it was not until the following 9th of 
November that the opinion of the reporter 
and result of the session became known at 
Exfort 


CHAPTER LV. 

Cyrilla’s anguish on receiving Rupert’s lettei 
it is impossible to describe — not even Melanie 
obtained admittance to her room for hours 
afterwards ; yet in the evening she was again 
in the drawing-room — again urging the Presi- 
dent to tell her the whole truth, and then listen- 
ing with breathless attention while, with forced 


CYRILLA 


211 


composure, he read aloud the written deposi- 
tions, or rather confessions ol Lindesmar and 
Klemmhein. The description of Rupert's last 
moments, however, almost overcame her forti- 
tude, and caused such evident torture that Me- 
lanie was about to interrupt her husband, had 
she not been deterred from doing so by Cyril la’s 
looks jmd signs of entreaty. He finished ; and, 
after a long pause, Melanie observed, with 
some bitterness, — 

“ For a person professing friendship, as Cap- 
tain Stauffen did for our poor dear Rupert, I 
must say he acted in an unpardonably selfish 
manner towards him.” 

“ He is the son of a clergyman,” answered 
the President, drily, and, abhors duelling as . . . 
as every one ought to do.” 

*' If Rupert had only applied to Major Arn- 
hem),” persisted Melanie. 

“ He was too considerate to entangle a man 
on the eve of marriage in such an affair,” re- 
plied the President. “ Arnheim said so himself 
to-day.” 

“ With regard to Edouard . . .” she then began, 



“If he cannot deny and disprove the charges 
this clay brought against him, he is more cul- 
pable than even that wavering, hot-brained 
fellow, Lindesmar. But,” he added, with a 
perceptible tremor in his voice — “ but we will 
not Condemn him unheard. It is not impos- 
sible or even improbable that Lindesmar and 
Klemmhein have agreed to throw the blame 
on him, in order 4o exculpate themselves. This 
i.s my last and only hope, and I shall cling to 
it as long as I can.” 

So did Melanie and Cyrilla also, but for 
reasons unknown to any .but themselves. They 
‘ wished to mourn without remorse. 

Separated, as a matter of course, from the 
Bellegarde family, and unwilling to see any of 
their other acquaintances at Exfort, Cyrilla and 
Melanie returned to Freilands, when the Pre- 
sident left them to spend a short time with his 
unhappy brother-in-law. General Zorndorff. At 
Cyrilla’s request, the Vicar of Windhorst soon 
after joined them, and almost every word of 
Rupert’s conversation with him the last day 
they had been on the lake together, recurring 
to her memory, she felt a melancholy satisfac- 
tion in carrying into execution the plan pro- 
posed on that occasion, and conferring on 
Englmann the house and land then offered him, 
on the condition of his residing at and under- 
taking at once the complete management of 
the Vehn colony. The President, when he 
joined them, informed of the restless exertions 
made by Cyrilla on this occasion, hoping it 
might, by diverting her mind from her grief, 
be beneficial to her health, conscientiously en- 
couraged her by every means in his power to 
persevere. If he thought her endowment of 
the Vicar, the schools, and hospital unnecessa- 
rily splendid, he did not say so, neither did he 
object to the presence of Conrad of Walden- 
burg, who unexpectedly made his appearance 
one morning, and seemed to have no other 
object than to walk about with Cyrilla, row 
her on the lake, and search for the few remain- 
ing wild-flowers still to be found. 

A more changed house than Freilands it is 


scarcely possible to imagine. Silence and me- 
lancholy had taken the place of the gay voices 
and music that once were heard within its 
walls ; no visiters were admitted ; and the 
Bellegardes, who had put on the deepest 
mourning for Rupert, having once requested 
an s interview, were so shocked and depressed 
at all they saw and heard, so painfully alive to 
the contrast offered them, and so overwhelmed 
by the consciousness that a member of their 
family had caused the misery around them, 
that they wept more than they spoke ; find 
hurrying from the house of sorrow, protested 
to each other, in whispers, that they would not 
again intrude ou a family where their presence 
must henceforward renew affliction, and their 
sympathy almost appear a mockery. 

“ Henri,” said Madame de Bellegarde to her 
husband, as he was about to leave them, after 
their return home, “ I saw you speaking to the 
President — of course about Victor.” 

“ Yes, he was at first extremely unwilling to 
give me any information ; but as T carefully 
avoided making offensive allusions to Zorn- 
dorff’s conduct, and attempted no useless de- 
fence of Victor, he told me it was probable 
that his education in France would be taken 
into consideration, where duelling is not named 
in the criminal code ; and where the Court of 
Cassation, in the year 1818-19, decided that 
neither wounding nor killing in duel could be 
considered as a crime, inasmuch as it is an in- 
tention commune — rcciprocite et sbnultaneitc 
(Tattague et de defence * His having studied at 
two German universities, where, to say the 
least, duelling was not severely punished, was 
also in his favour ; and that his snort residence 
of but two months here admitted the possibili 
ty of his counsel pleading an ignorantia juris, 
that may enable him to escape with eight or 
ten years’ imprisonment.” 

“ And that you call an escape ! ” exclaimed 
Julie de Lindesmar. 

M. de Bellegarde shrugged his shoulders. 
“Hie less we say about it the better, Julie — it 
is an unfortunate discreditable affair altogether ; 
and though it may be named manslaughter, I 
never heard of a more decided case of gentle- 
man-like murder.” 

The last days of summer had passed, and 
the brown and yellow leaves of autumn began 
to cover the walks and avenues. Day after 
day Cyrilla visited her village, although Me- 
lanie, who occasionally accompanied her, en 
deavoured to persuade her to be more careful 
of her health, and avoid the fogs on the river. 
“ I have so much to do, and so little time,” she 
constantly answered ; and her sister imagined 
she feared the approaching winter might com- 
mence before the houses of the colonists would 
be habitable. Cyrilla did not explain, but her 
constant companions, the Vicar and Conrad, 
knew well that the idea of death had taken 
complete possession of her mind ; and that her 
only desire now was to benefit her fellow-crea- 
tures iu some way before the close of her short 
career. She wondered how little meaning tk <* 
word death had had for her heretofore — how 

* Essai historlque et critique sur le duel, d’apr^s 
notre legislation et nos mceurs. Tar Brillat et Savarin. 
Paris, 1819. Prejet ce legislation sur Ice duels. Par M 
Picard irAallaucii. Paris, 1819. 


CYRILLA. 


*12 


undefined her thoughts — how distant and indis- 
tinct the prospect had been. Now ever pre- 
sent to her mind — the aspect of all around her 
changed — she prepared with calm resignation 
to leave a world of trial and sorrow, with hopes 
to great of future happiness, that nothing but 
the natural dread of the last struggle restrained 
her impatience to be free. 

Her long conversations with the Vicar, ge- 
nerally commencing with some reminiscence of 
Rupert’s youth on his part, but ever ending in 
a discussion of the most momentous theological 
questions, were not uufrequently interrupted 
by Melanie, whose visionary flights at first 
interested, but latterly began to shock her 
former friend Englmaun. He found her mind 
a chaos of thought and fancies — a strange mix- 
ture of erudition and superstition — not refusing 
any creed, but rather willing to embrace a little 
of all ; and so oddly credulous on some points, 
so hard of conviction on others, that he scarcely 
thought it would be possible to restore true 
faith and peace of mind to such a wandering 
intellect and 'wavering imagination. 

The President, uneasy and anxious about his 
nephew, no longer absorbed in book or news- 
paper, often overheard parts of these conversa- 
tions ; and one evening, when, after an excur- 
sive flight to the different planets iu our 
system, in which it became evident that 
Schlegel’s idea of a nearer approach to the 
sun being a nearer approach to felicity had 
found favour in her mind, she had returned to 
earth, and had glided from the Mosaic account 
of the creation to the geological demand of 
millions of years for the same purpose, she was 
startled by hearing his voice close to her ear, 
whispering — 

“ Melanie, you have tasted the fruit of the 
tree of knowledge — left the garden of Eden for 
ever, and mental thorns and thistles will hence- 
fi>rth be your portion.” 

She was about to answer, when a servant 
entered the room and gave the President a 
letter that had been sent express from Exfort ; 
his eye glanced rapidly over the first few lines, 
and then he walked hastily into another room. 

Time was when such an occurrence would 
not have interrupted the most trivial conversa- 
tion at Freilands; but the inhabitants, now 
‘living in daily dread of an accession to their 
grief, observed every trifle ; and tlie circum- 
stance of the President’s having left the room 
with his letter was whisperingly pronounced a 
bad prognostic. After waiting some time in 
rain expectation of his return, they begau to 
think that some one ought to follow him, and 
ask if the letter concerned Zorndorff. Melanie 
and Cyrilla looked at each other inquiringly, 
and then walked together to the doorway of 
the room he had entered. They saw him sit- 
ting in the chair nearest them in an attitude of 
tlie most complete despondency, a letter of 
considerable length spread out before him, on 
which his eyes were fixed, though he did not 
eppoar to be reading. 

It was a copy of Zorndorff ’s letter to the 
Inquistor that had been transmitted to him ; 
and so overwhelming had been the destruction 
all his hopes, and the confirmation of his 
worst fears, that en when Melanie stood be- 


side him *e found it at first impossible to speak, 
and handed her the letter in silence. 

Either from knowing that Cyrilla’s eyes were 
fixed upon her as well as her husband’s, oi 
perhaps better acquainted with Zorndorff *s 
character than the latter supposed, she ap- 
peared less surprised and shocked than he ex 
pected. 

“ You do not perceive the baseness of his 
conduct,” he observed, in a low deep voice. 

“ I do,’’ she answered, slowly ; “ and guessed 
his motives from the first.” 

“ Motives,” he repeated bitterly ; “ there are 
motives, and even strong ones, for most crimes ; 
but his is a complication of all that is base and 
dishonourable ; aud not the most violent pas- 
sion that ever existed can for a moment pal- 
liate such conduct. Melanie,” he added, solemn 
ly, “let the name of this cold-blooded deliberate 
murderer never again be mentioned in my 
presence.” 

Terrible as the President looked at that mo 
ment, Cyrilla had courage to extend her hand 
and take the letter from him. Melanie at- 
tempted to interfere. 

“ You must not let her see it, Wilhelm Jit 
will agitate her unnecessarily, and she has no 
strength to bear an addition to a grief that has 

already been nearly fatal to her Cyrilla 

dearest do not read the confession of a 

man who was evidently in a state of distraction 
when he wrote.” 

But the letter was already in Cyrilla’s hand, 
and they now both anxiously watched her 
countenance while she read the avowal that 
love for her had been the incentive to the 
ruthless deed that had plunged them and so 
many families into affliction. She did not 
weep when reading, or utter one word when 
she returned it to the President ; but he had 
scarcely left the room before she sat down, and 
leaning back, apparently more dead than alive, 
murmured : “ 0 Melanie, my last hope is ex 
tinct — my worst fears confirmed — 1 am guilty 
of Rupert’s death ! ” 

“ You ! ” cried Melanie, pretending to misun- 
derstand her. “ Dear Cyrilla, do not indulge 
such an idea for a moment. How could you 
prevent Edouard from loving you ? ” 

“ Melanie if it had not been for that 

day at Spa he would have had no pre- 

tence for marring my happiness — no power to 
work such desolation among us ! ” 

“ Rather let us deplore Wilhelm’s severity” 
said Melanie, who, as the promoter of that un- 
fortunate scheme, felt it necessary for her own 
relief to throw the blame elsewhere. “ Had we 
dared speak to him, one word would have re- 
‘moved our difficulties and all impediments to 
to 

Cyrilla made a sign to her sister to stop, 
buried her face in her hands for a few moments, 
and then, rising, drew Iter towards the door, 
saying, “ Come with me to my room ; I do not 
wish to be alone just now.” 

Melanie followed her down the broad, bril- 
liantly lighted staircase, to the lofty, lonely 
hall, with its pillars and marble tables ; and 
there Cyrilla stopped, and, looking round her, 
said, “ Let me once more recall those last ten 
days of happiness, which I scarcely dared U: 


CYKILLa. 


2U 


enjoy, so great was my fear of the machina- 
tions of that unscrupulous, cruel man ! Every 
room in this house, every spot in the domain, 
brings Rupert before me, bright-looking and 
joyous, as he ever was ! Does it not appear 
but as yesterday that he was with us here 

in this very hall, healthy, and happy 

oh, so happy ! You remember the last 

night the Bellegardes were with us 

we walked home with them . .. . and after- 
wards with Rupert, to the lake There 

was moonlight then — bright moonlight 

and now, too, I believe ; but it is shining on 
the grave containing his mangled remains ! ” 

“ O Cyrilla, remember what the Vicar said 
about the sin of encouraging grief, or yielding to 
it inordinately.” 

“ And have I done so ? ” she rejoined, re- 
proachfully, as they entered her room. “ Have 
I not made every exertion that could be re- 
quired of me ? That letter, Melanie — that 
terrible confession which we have just read — 
has broken my heart. For me there is now no 
peace but in the grave ; and God will merci- 
fully take me from a world in which I have 
caused and suffered so much evil.” 

She seated herself beside her sister, and, 
taking Rupert’s last letter from a drawer in 
her writing table, continued : “ I have lately 
often thought of the night when I imagined I 
saw him in my room, and ” 

“Yes, dear; but don’t talk of that now,” 
said Melanie, with a look of terror, glancing 
towards the windows, where the curtains, how- 
ever, were drawn with the care befitting au- 
tumn, and no stray gleam of moonlight reached 
the adjacent chairs. “ I have frequently wished 

to speak to you about it but the 

morning is the best time Let us talk of it 

to-morrow. You will go to rest now 

won't you and not walk about your room 

all night, as I have heard that you so constantly 
do?” 

“ I dream so painfully that I dread sleep,” 
replied Cyrilla, in a melancholy voice. “ Night 
after night I fancy myself standing with you 
on the balcony at Exfort, and eee that frightful 

procession pass beneath the windows 

much much nearer than it was in reality. 

I hear the tramp of feet ; I see the upturned, 
gravely wondering faces of the crowd ; and 
then the bier, with its long, motionless figure. 
Last night, the covering cloak was slowly 
thrown aside. Rupert stood up, and, stretch- 
ing his arms towards the balcony, made a sign 
to me to spring down to him ” 

“ But you did not — 0, 1 hope you did not ! ” 
cried Melanie, eagerly. 

“ It was but a dream,” answered Cyrilla, 
smiling faintly “ Yet, even in dream, I 'shud- 
dered, and foi a moment hesitated ; but when 
he again beckoned, I threw myself forward, saw 
him rise to meet me, and a moment afterwards 
we were floating together in the air, far beyond 
the town of Exfort.” 

“And then you awoke? ” 

“ Not until I had seen a hearse, followed by 
h procession of carriages, pass out of the east 
gate of the town. Rupert pointed to it, and 
said, 1 They are taking. us to the vault a: Wind- 
horst, Cyrilla, and mourning for us. as the 
youthful alone are ever mourned.’ ” 


“And then ! ” asked Melanie, perceiving that 
she paused. 

“ It was a morning dream,” answered Cyrilla ■ 

“ and the sound of the lighting of my stove 
wakened me.” 

“ I wish,” said Melanie, a little anxiously — 
“I wish you would allow Ursula to sleep in 
your room to-night.” 

“ I intend to do so, because her presence will 
force me to control my feelings,” replied Cyrilla; 

“ but you must not ring I do not want her 

for an hour at least.” 

For many succeeding days Cyrilla was toe 
ill to leave her room, and when somewhat re- 
covered, it was found necessary to turn the 
breakfast into a drawing room, as she was too 
weak to mount the staircase. Conrad wan- 
dered about, grave and thoughtful ; sometimes 
diffideutly proposing to row her to the village, 
or drive her there in the pony-carriage ; at 
others, bringing quantities of flowers from the 
greenhouse — the arrangement of which seemed 
to afford her a pleasure quite incomprehensible 
to him. 

One morning, as he entered the room, with 
both hands full, lie perceived that she was 
drawing. Delighted to see her, as he thought 
renewing her former occupations, lie strode to- 
wards the table ; but his countenance fell, and 
the flowers dropped from his hand, when he 
discovered that she had just finished the 
slightly coloured sketch of a simple tombstone, 
on which Rupert’s name was already written, 
followed by her own, with a space left for the 
insertion of the date. His exclamation, and 
sudden rush out of the room, induced the 
President to rise and walk behind Cyrilla’s 
chair. She leaned back, and, holding the 
drawing towards him, said, “You will have 
something resembling this placed over or near 
the vault at Windhorst; and as we are alone, 
let me take the opportunity of telling you, that 
a wish to make a will in favour of Fernanda 
You will undertake the necessary arrange- 
ments for me, I am sure” 

“ Certainly,” answered the President, gravely 
“ Many people have made wills, and lived to 
alter them a score of years afterwards.” 

Cyrilla, taking no notice of this remark, con- 
tinued : “ Melanie has of course told you, that 
I have written to ask Fernanda to come here 
How soon do you think we may expect her ? ” 

“ In about a week or ten days,” he answered. 

“ By that time,” she said, half inquiringly, 
“ we shall know the result of this unhappy 
trial.” 

“Perhaps so The verdict, in the first 

instance, was so severe, that an appeal has 
been made to a higher tribunal. On indeed 
refused to do so, and wished for death ; but I 
directed bis counsel to take the necessary 
steps without consulting him.” 

“ You are right — quite right,” said Cyrilla, in 
a voice so low, that Melanie, who just then 
entered the room, could not hear it ; but she 
saw . ... that the President, kneeling beside 
her sister, picked up one by one the flower's 
scattered on the carpet by Conrad ; and as he 
placed them beside the dying girl, large tears, 
that had for some time clouded his clear gray 
eyes %11 slowly upon them. 

Cyrilla did not perceive this. She began U 


214 


0 T R I L L A. 


arrange the flcwers in a glass of water, while 
saying, gently, “ Thank you, dear Wilhelm — 
you are very kinct” 

CONCLUSION. 

Zorndorff, after having completed his unre- 
served self-accusation, declined making further 
disclosures, and awaited in proud taciturnity 
the verdict he knew would be pronounced by 
his judges. Having refused to appeal to a 
higher court, and not knowing that his counsel 
had done so for him, he was scarcely prepared 
for the clemency of the following sentence, as 
Car as he himself was concerned. 

Edouard, Count Zorndorff, twenty years — 
Victor, Count Lindesmar, eight years — and 
Lieutenant von Klemmhein, three years’ impri- 
sonment, the last named, salva fama, in the 
fortress of W ; Captain Stauffen, honour- 

ably acquitted, has permission to return to the 
duties of his regiment. 

Zorndorff calmly observed that he had de- 
served death, and wished, by suffering the 
penalty, he could release from punishment 
those who had been altogether drawn into error 
by him. 


Cyrilla did not long sui vive the publication 
of this verdict. Although the arrival of Fer- 
nanda served to rouse her from her languor, 
and even gave her strength sufficient for seve 
ral long conversations with her sister, she soon 
again began to sink beneath the attacks of the 
lingering fever, which no remedies of the at- 
tending physicians could remove* and breathed 
her last surrounded by mourning friends, who 
eagerly listened to and long remembered her 
murmured words of faith, and hopes of joyful 
reunion with those she loved, in another aud a 
better world. 

By oue of the strange chances so common in 
life, the day on which Zorndorff and Lindesmar 
left Exfort for their place of destination, they 
overtook the long train of carriages that accom 
panied to the first village on the road to Wind- 
horst the hearse containing the remains of Ru- 
pert and Cyrilla. Step by step the well- 
guaraec carriage followed in the funeral pro- 
cession while in it the most hopelessly and 
deeply mourning mourners of all bent down 
their heads in silent agony. When at last a 
halt was made, and they were permitted to 
pass, one furtive glance showed them ths pall 
that covered the coffins of both their victims. 


THE END. 


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